Seeking Clarity
by Trinity Everett
Summary: What would've happened if Kate had called Castle before going back to work in Rise? A season 4 AU. An extremely late 2014 Summer Hiatus Ficathon entry.
1. Skyscrapers

**Seeking Clarity**

**Rating: **T

**Pairing**: Castle/Beckett

**Category**: Angst, fluff, romance, humor

**Spoilers**: All seasons up to season 4.

**Summary**: What would've happened if Kate had called Castle before going back to work in Rise? A season 4 AU.

**Notes**: This story began as a response to a one word prompt (Skyscrapers), to help me shake off writer's block for my original ficathon idea. It quickly took on a life of its own, becoming a summer long project, and thus, my humble entry to the 2014 Castle Summer Hiatus Ficathon. My thanks to everyone who encouraged me this summer as I got my Castle writing sea legs, and my biggest thanks go to nikkibeckettcsm on tumblr, who listened to me whine, moan, gush, and worry over this story. This wouldn't have been typed any time soon without you!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One - Skyscrapers<strong>

She's been back in the city for less than two days when the panic hits. The roads are too busy, the sidewalks too crowded, the buildings too tall. Here there are too many hiding spots for someone to lurk, too many sharp noises – cracks and bangs – that make her jump halfway out of her skin as she walks. At her father's cabin, it was just her, the trees, and the lake, but here, back in her _home_ it's just too much. The air is too thick, too heavy. It makes her breath come too quickly, and causes her chest to ache more than it already does. It's misery. It's misery and it's partially of her own making.

She should have called. She knows that. She should have called him, called anyone. Instead, she did nothing. She stayed in the hospital the minimum amount of time her doctor – and Josh, whom she'd told a tad unceremoniously that it was over as soon as she could move on her own power – recommended before she packed as little as possible and escaped, never looking back. Now here she is, months later, standing in her own city more alone than ever. She knows she could – should – call now (and not just him, anyone; Lanie, Esposito, even Ryan), but instead she wanders, almost-blindly bumping her way through throngs of tourists on her way to a destination she hopes will eventually reveal itself.

It isn't until she's staring out at the city from high above her usual vantage point that she realizes where she is. She hasn't been to the top of the building in years, choosing to stay away from the skyscraper thanks to the masses who flocked to the landmark each day. She's long told herself she knows New York better than anyone visiting for the first time could hope to; she doesn't need to see the city this way, not when she drives up and down the streets each day. She sees the real New York, both the good and the bad, though most days it's hard to remember the good.

But oh, she's forgotten how beautiful it is here, how beautiful her home is. The city positively shines in the afternoon sun. Light glimmers on the water and bounces off windows of the buildings downtown. For the first time since the bullet burned through her chest, she's able to take a deep breath. It hurts, it makes her hands clench in her pockets and her body lean a little more heavily on the railing, but it's finally not excruciating. With each breath taken high above the sidewalks, the heavy ache of panic abates. No one can touch her here. This is her city, this is her home, and she'll be damned if she'll let pain or fear or a sniper take it from her.

She'll be damned if she lets any of that take him from her. She'll be damned if she takes him from herself with her own inaction.

Her fingers twitch in her pockets again, one hand drawing her phone out before she has a chance to shake off her revelation, her moment of bravery. Yes, she should have called sooner, yes, she should have let him in, but she's doing it now, isn't she? She's going to try to do that now. Isn't that what really matters?

Maybe the roof isn't the best place to make this call, with the wind whipping around her, drowning out the conversations of the people she may or may not have shared an elevator with on the way up, but she doesn't care. This is how she's reaching out. At the top of a skyscraper, breath caught in her chest in a way that finally doesn't hurt as much. She's doing it here. Home. So what if she has to plug her ear to make sure it's still ringing or to gauge if he's already picked up and hung up on her before she's even gotten a word out in her own defense. She would deserve that if he has.

"Kate?" He sounds rushed, anxious, but God, beneath that he sounds like a dream. "Kate I thought…never mind. Never mind. How, how are you? Are you okay?"

She swallows back the sob that his questions draw from her. He's been hoping for a call this whole time; worrying about her lack of contact. Worrying about _her_.

"Kate?" he repeats when her silence stretches on far too long. She hears the harder edge of hurt seeping in. This is what he's dealt with for months. She has to fix this. Fix this, fix herself, fix it all. Now.

She swallows hard, taking a long look around and drawing her strength from the sky ahead of her, from the man who loves her (loved? No, loves.); he loves her and he told her so. This distance hasn't changed that, has it? She has to hope it hasn't. She has to hope her running away hasn't changed the words he needed her to hear as she looked up at another clear afternoon sky and wished the pain would stop.

But first, she needs to speak.

"H-hey, Castle. It's me. Can you, will you meet me somewhere?"

* * *

><p>She sees him before he sees her.<p>

She isn't hiding, per say, she's just off to the side, out of the way. Already, she's stayed longer than her "tour" was supposed to, but she can't leave. She can't give up this clarity, at least not until he's here. Until she has been able to do something, say something, no matter how tiny a gesture it is.

Off to the side or not, she still has to stop herself from going to him as soon as she sees him. He's a sight for sore eyes, hair messily arranged across his forehead as if he's been running his fingers through it to fix it and then changing his mind about it. It's a far cry from the Castle who looked so put-together in the hospital. She's not sure she has any room to talk, though. After spending however long up here, she has no idea what kind of shape her hair is in; or what shape the rest of her is in, for that matter.

She knows the moment he spots her in the crowd. The wild, urgent desperation fades from his face, replaced after he swallows with something she's not sure she can even name. He's the one who gives her his words, after all. Still, she tries to stand a little taller as he slides around a gaggle of excited high school students most of whom barely give him a second glance. He apologizes to one as he trips over her in his eagerness, but it seems to get lost in the fray.

God, he looks good. His shirt is either new, or one she hasn't seen in too long, but the light lines – crisp white and light blue – brighten his face and make his shoulders seem even broader if that's possible. She knows she probably looks pale and small (pathetic) in comparison. She doesn't look like anything special, that much is definite. There is nothing extraordinary about her now. It's honestly a surprise that he hasn't turned right back around and ducked into the elevator again.

"Interesting meeting choice," he says in greeting. He doesn't rush to hug her or offer a joke. Even three words are tightly controlled. He's angry, understandably, but he is here and that has to count for something. He's here and she's here.

"I was…walking. I ended up here. I thought you might like to see it." She cringes at how lame it sounds, especially combined with her hand gestures toward the horizon. Surely she can do better.

"Beckett." Her eyes dart to him as he sighs, seemingly battling himself. "Tried to call you a few times."

He's going for nonchalant, she knows. He's mostly failing, but he's trying.

"I know. I'm sorry; I should've called you back."

"Called, texted, sent smoke signals, even a carrier pigeon. Any of the above would've done just fine."

"I know, Castle." She licks her lips and shifts a little closer to him so she doesn't have to shout over the wind. "I should have. I am sorry I didn't. I was –"

"Too busy with Josh?" he snaps, reminding her that, despite Castle supporting _her _choices in her doomed relationship, there was no love between the two men. Her shooting exacerbated it, and running away seems to have tipped the scales. Briefly, she wonders if Josh thinks she spent the last couple of months with her partner the way her partner thinks she spent them with Josh. What a mess she's made of all of this.

"We broke up." She straightens, ignoring the twinge in her side when the movement stretches her scar. It makes her wince and it doesn't go unnoticed by him.

"Are you okay?" The sharpness in his voice has receded a bit.

"It pulls, just a little." The words spill out before she can tell herself to hold them back. He deserves to know, he deserves her honesty.

Still, her answer has him looking away. She watches his fingers clench for just a second before disappearing into his pockets. He has other questions, dozens probably, but he doesn't ask. He doesn't say anything, leaving her to wonder what he's thinking, if he's thinking about her scars, about her recovery, or about her ex. Maybe some combination of both.

She shuts her eyes long enough to take a deep breath before looking downtown. The sun has shifted, casting a few more shadows than before. It's still beautiful, though, a reminder to her. Her hands uncoil from the railing as she turns to him, determined to try to get everything out.

"Before I left the hospital."

He cocks his head, but still doesn't speak. Anyone else would ask what she's talking about; Castle knows. Castle can track her thoughts, jumbled as they may be. She licks her lips quickly.

"I liked him, I really did. But it wasn't… what I wanted," she continues, hoping he's still following her, anticipating her the way he always could. "I'm not… very good at this, any of this –"

"Beckett," he starts, finally, and she notices his entire body orient in her direction. His hands come out of his pockets again, another sign he's opening back up to her. It almost makes her regret shaking her head to cut him off.

"Just let me try to get this out, okay?" she beseeches. Her fingers curl around his, the contact startling them both.

"Okay," he agrees quietly. His fingers twitch, but he doesn't return the squeeze the way she expects.

"I'm not very good at any of this, Castle. Not after my mom... and then all this," she pauses to give his hand a squeeze. "But I'm… I don't know if I will be good at it until I fix this, me. That's why I… well you know. I had to get away from everything."

It's a faltering, feeble explanation, she knows. It barely makes sense to her; she doesn't expect it to make sense to him.

"I haven't even been back for two days, but I couldn't be on the street. When I came up here, I could breathe again. That's when I called you."

She bites her lip at the compassion on his face. He shouldn't have to do this, any of this. But he is, he's still here and he hasn't shaken off her hand or told her where to shove her empty, blustered excuses. He's still here, so close she can smell his aftershave, his fingers wrapped warmly around hers and his eyes radiating everything she's already run from once. He's still here and this time he's keeping her here, too.

"So… what are you doing now?" he asks slowly, as if he's afraid it's not safe to speak just yet.

"Well right this second I'm apologizing to my partner," she says, finally tearing her eyes from him and gulping in a cleansing breath. "I'm apologizing for disappearing on him and not calling. And for generally being a mess."

"There's nothing wrong with messes, Kate," he answers automatically, defending her even when he has no reason to do so. "But you're forgiven. It doesn't mean I'm not still mad, but you're forgiven."

Relief floods her and she nods. She wasn't expecting his forgiveness, not this soon, and the urge to spill all her secrets in an attempt to convince him recedes. She'll have to tell him eventually, she _will_ tell him eventually, but for now this is enough. Until she doesn't need to stand on top of a skyscraper to have even a hope of telling him she loves him, too, this is enough.

"Thank you," she murmurs, giving him a thin smile, one he returns before they slip into silence.

She knows there is more he wants to ask but he doesn't, and she doesn't know how to bring up anything else. She needs to ask about work. The one and only time she spoke to Lanie, she said the new captain had arrived, but that's all she knows. Even thinking about someone taking Roy's place – thinking about Roy in general – sends pangs through her. She knows she has to be evaluated before she returns to duty; it's an appointment her father insisted she make as his condition for bringing her back to the city. Then there's the case, her case. She doesn't know anything there either, and she needs to.

"She kicked me out," Castle interrupts her thoughts (doesn't he always?) somehow knowing exactly where her mind is. "The new captain. Told me there wasn't any use for me in her precinct. Less nicely, of course."

"I'll fix that," she promises. Judging from the look on his face, her conviction surprises him. She's fighting for him instead of fighting against him. "Once I'm back at work, I'll fix that."

He shakes his head. "If you – let me, okay? You'll see why."

If she what? Wants him back. Is that in question? "Cas-"

"Trust me, Kate."

She exhales, giving him a nod. Maybe he is being his sometimes-dramatic self or maybe he has a point. Either way, she'll give him this. "Okay, you'll take care of it." It's pointed, hopefully pointed enough for him to know his place is not in question.

"Kate… have you talked to anyone?"

His words sting like she's just been doused in freezing cold water. She steps back, hands dropping his. "What do you mean? I'm fine. I'll be cleared in a couple days and be good to go back. I'm just adjusting." It sounds too loud to her ears, the words coming too quickly to be anything but empty denials.

Castle lifts a hand to her shoulder before her voice rises further.

"I meant the others – Esposito, Ryan, Lanie?"

Her chest aches in the wake of her outburst. Mentioning the guys and her best friend just makes it worse.

"No. No, you're the first one I called." She pushes her hair out of her face, wishing belatedly that she had thought to bring a rubber band.

Castle's hand appears out of nowhere, a bright green hair elastic flopping between his fingers.

"Alexis," he explains. "She's been hiding these in my pockets since she was little. Shows you how well I check my them when I do laundry."

"Thanks." Taking the elastic from him, she does her best to gather her hair into some semblance of order and do it without wincing. Her dad would remind her to sit, to let herself rest, but she stays where she is. Sitting means leaving, it means explaining or letting him witness what she doesn't have under control yet. No, staying is better. She'll take a Tylenol later if she still hurts.

"Have you ever been?" He interrupts her thoughts again, gesturing downtown toward the water.

"Ellis Island?" She lifts an eyebrow. "Of course. Class trip when I was a kid. Why?"

"Tomorrow. We're going tomorrow."

She blinks, totally confused. They were doing what? "What? Castle, no."

"I have a signing in the morning, but after that," he steamrolls ahead, as he always does and a refusal is on the tip of her tongue. Today's been hard enough; she's tired. She'll need tomorrow's silence to steel herself for her appointment. For being cleared to get back to normal.

"Castle," she tries. "I don't… think that's such a great idea."

She knows she sounds weary; she feels it, too. Suddenly the ache in her side is more pronounced that it was just a few minutes ago. Her shoulders feel heavier, head a little more clouded.

"Kate."

"Castle, don't," she murmurs, trying not to sound harsh, trying not to ruin whatever progress they've made in the last few minutes.

He nods finally. "Okay. I'm sorry."

She doesn't want him to be sorry. He shouldn't have to be sorry because she can't get her shit – her fears, her issues, all of it – under control. He shouldn't have to be sorry because she's broken and the glue won't quite dry when she tries to piece herself back together.

"Don't," she repeats quietly. "Don't be sorry. It's just a lot at once, okay?"

She watches him stomp his own hurt down as he nods. "Right, that makes sense."

"I just need some time."

He swallows hard and she realizes her mistake. She said that once before, as her chest ached with a pain even the best painkillers in the hospital couldn't touch. She'd needed to get away then, to hide from him and herself, and the fight she still remembers vividly. She doesn't mean it that way now.

"No not, not like that. Just… one crowd was enough for now. And getting to my apartment when I leave here is going to be difficult enough. I just, I think I should take it easy tomorrow. Stay home. Read. Try to eat some of the ten pounds of macaroni and cheese Aunt Theresa had my dad deliver for her." She offers him a small smile, hoping she's made it obvious enough that she isn't taking off again.

Truthfully, right now she doesn't have the energy to run, but she hopes even if she did, she would be strong enough not to. For him at the very least.

"Ten pounds, huh?"

She nods, slumping a little more on exhale. He gets it, or at the very least gets part of it. She's trying, so he'll try too.

"Yeah, it takes up a ton of space. I'm never going to want to look at the stuff again soon, but it's nice to have." She doesn't mention that it is sometimes all she can stomach, or that it's filling enough that it doesn't matter if it is all she eats.

"Need any help eating it?" The question is light enough that it doesn't leave her breath seizing in her chest. He's backing down a little, but not letting her off the hook altogether. He'll give her the hideout of her apartment, but he's not giving her solitude. "I know a guy who loves comfort food."

"It… might be nice," she says, finally feeling as confident as her words seem. "After your signing?"

He nods. "Or the day after. Depending on how you feel. Why don't you call me and let me know?"

It's an olive branch and a test all in one. He's saying he'll give her this time as long as she stays, as long as she lets him in.

"Okay," she agrees quietly, stepping closer. Their shoulders barely touch, but it soothes her somehow anyway. "I will." It comes out a promise, a firm one.

Castle nods, too, accepting her answer. He may not trust it completely, but he accepts it. She just has to prove it to him. She has to prove a lot.

"It's getting late," he says after silence has reigned for a little longer. The sun has started to disappear, its reflection arcing across the windows below them. "Give you a ride home?"

"You drove?" She lifts an eyebrow, surprised.

"No, cab. But I can call a car and have it meet us." He shifts on his feet, head dipping closer to hers so she hears him clearly over the wind. "If that's better, calmer, I mean."

She doesn't deserve anything this sweet, forgiving man does for her, but she nods anyway, willing to take what he offers.

"That might be good. Thanks, Castle."

He nods in return, already reaching into his pocket for his phone.

"But hey," she adds, halting his movements with a light touch on his arm. "Can we maybe… wait until the sun goes down?"

"Sure, Kate," he murmurs, pocketing his phone again. "We can stay."

Impulsively, her arm slides through his. Her flats make it possible for her head to tuck itself against his shoulder and she feels him stiffen in surprise for just an instant before he relaxes.

She takes her strength from the fading light and from him.

"Thank you."

The slide of his fingers over hers is answer enough.

* * *

><p>She wakes the next morning more refreshed than she's felt in months. Her nightmares were minimal, although not gone altogether. It's a start, waking up only a couple times with her heart hammering and her shirt soaked to her skin. She'll get there.<p>

Her morning routine is still complicated, although less so than even a month ago. She's still on a few medications, but not the heavy painkillers they had her on at first. After her next checkup, she hopes only the vitamins will remain. Vitamins she can handle; she can't deal with finding time to choke the others down once she goes back to work.

After the pills and the dry toast she forces herself to chew between medications – lest her stomach revolt at the dosages – she does some of the stretches the hospital physiotherapist pressed into her father's hand before she checked out. They hurt, but she realizes not nearly as much as they had just two weeks earlier. In fact, everything feels a little better than it has in a long, long time. She's almost there she can really feel it. Just a little longer, a little more work.

The stacks of Tupperware in her fridge and freezer remind her of the promises she made Castle the night before. She will call him. She has to. Her apologies will be empty if she doesn't. She just needs an hour or two, maybe a few more, to herself. She needs that time to sit on the couch and read (but not his book, not yet). To enjoy the almost calm. Here in her apartment, she can do this. She can remember the way it felt to be on that roof and try to replicate that peace in her own home.

Turning away from the fridge, she takes her tea and her fruit and pads to her couch to do just that. She'll call her dad in a little bit, too, just to ease his worries. If she's relaxed enough, it may even convince him he doesn't need to come and check on her. She's sure that's more of a fantasy than anything. Her dad is nothing if not attentive. Nevertheless, it never hurts to try.

She doesn't drink more than a half a dozen sips of tea and only makes it a few pages when she feels her eyelids slipping shut. Damn, these mid-everything (day, night, evening) naps needed to stop. Maybe once she's done with the meds, it'll be better.

Her stomach is in her throat when she awakens, the result of unseen terrors chasing her down. She claws the blanket off her shoulders, eager to put her feet flat on the floor and stand. She barely remembers the dream itself, but the heaviness in her chest and her raw throat gives her an indication of what it was about; she's been screaming.

So much for a peaceful day. She sucks in a breath and digs her toes into the carpet, trying to ground herself. Her legs sway unsteadily at first. The dreams always manage to throw off her equilibrium, but this time she manages not to hit the deck. The last thing she needs is to bust her knee before her physical.

Swiping her hand through her hair only tugs at her side, but she has to get it off her neck. She needs to cool down, remember to relax her muscles, and be calm. Be calm. She can be calm.

She reaches for her tea, gulping the minty liquid down. It's bitter now that it's cold, but her throat needs it, needs something wet. She finishes it before her stomach can protest. The nightmares always make her queasy; keeping anything, water included, down is a chore.

Her hand is shaking by the time she replaces the mug on the coffee table, but she just focuses on breathing. The nausea passes finally, even if the trembling her limbs hasn't yet. It will pass, it always does. She just has to breathe.

Pacing helps. Everyone has always told her it wouldn't but it helps her. It forces her legs to cooperate. It forces her brain to realign, to focus on the slow path she makes through her living room. It works for her.

She's finally managed to calm the frantic beating of her heart when the shrillness of her phone breaks the silence. She retraces her path once more to get to it. She's fairly certain this isn't the first time it has chimed either, but she snatches it up without bothering to look at the display to test that theory.

"Beckett." No amount of time away from the precinct will break her of the habit.

"It's me."

"Hi, Dad," she breathes. "Sorry, I was going to call. I fell asleep."

Her father's chuckle is soft, but relieved. Briefly, she wonders how many of the notifications she hasn't looked at yet belong to her dad.

"It's good to rest, Katie."

"I know, but maybe not half an hour after I get out of bed?"

He gives her another gentle laugh, warming her. There was once a time when neither of them had much to laugh about. She's been worried this – the shooting, her recovery, the reminders of her mom's case – would be too much for him, but he has surprised her. He's been as steadfast and focused as ever.

"Rest is rest, honey."

She sighs. "That's true, I guess."

This time when he laughs, she knows he is laughing at her. She is not very good at resting; she'll admit it.

"How are you feeling? Besides the midday nap."

Her father's voice helps shake the rest of her nightmare away.

"Fine. Ready to get back to work, to the case, to normal."

"Katie," he sighs. They've talked about the wisdom in jumping right back in, but she needs to do this. The same way she needed to stand above the buildings yesterday and attempt an apology to Castle. She can't go anywhere, she can't be herself again – whoever she really is – until she makes headway on this. "You need to give yourself time."

"I gave myself months. I got away, now I really need to finish it, Dad."

Her father is quiet, contemplative, and she finds herself squirming as she awaits his next words.

Apparently, he chooses to let it go. "You have a couple appointments soon, right?"

"Yeah." It's a confirmation of something he already knows, but she'll let him off the hook. "Tomorrow."

"And tomorrow is the –"

"Precinct shrink, yes. For my psych eval. And the cardiologist and my physical. Those are in the morning, the shrink's in the afternoon."

She's already cringing at the thought of desk duty if she can't pass the physical evaluation to get back out there. She wants to be back, but she needs to _be_ back in every way. Working scenes, doing the foot work with her team.

"What time?"

"Dad –"

"I want – no, I need to, Katie."

"Okay," she relents, already wishing she could say no. Her appointments promise to be miserable and she knows she shouldn't put her father through that. However, if he wants to be there, she will let him be there.

"Thank you," he says once she's given him her appointment times again. "Do you need anything now, honey?"

"No, Dad. I'm okay." She rests her cheek against the back of the couch, feeling her body sag more than she'd like. "I'm just going to go back to reading and hopefully I'll be able to stay awake."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Dad. I'm sure. I'll be fine today, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright, okay. But you'll call if you need anything?"

"I'll call."

Her father still doesn't seem entirely convinced, she knows, but he lets it go. "Okay then, I'll see you tomorrow."

She exhales. "See you tomorrow, Dad."

Her phone stays in her hand long after they hang up, reminding her of the promise she made long after the screen goes dark. If she's not up for his company, she needs to say so instead of being a damn coward. Instead of doing it again, the same thing she did to him for months.

She starts typing a message before she can talk herself out of it. Before she pulls the blanket high over her shoulders and ignores everything for a little longer. Even refusal is better than silence, right? It would have to be.

She hits send before she thinks too hard about her words and tosses her phone off to the side. He's probably still at his signing right now anyway; it's still early enough in the day. He'll be able to make other plans now since she's sure he's blocked off today in his mind whether she'd agreed to it yesterday or not. He's presumptuous that way.

An energy rush has her searching for her book a moment later. Her page has been lost between dropping it onto her chest and throwing it halfway across the room thanks to her nightmare. It's not a big loss, though. She doesn't remember any of what she read before; it'll be easier to start over.

Somehow, she manages to stay awake through almost eighty pages of plodding story set up. Usually she is drawn in faster than this, but either this isn't one of his better works, or she's just not in the mood for Castle's poker buddy today. She knows she would rather read _Heat Rises_. She hasn't picked up the copy she preordered, but she has the copy her father brought to her after one of his trips into the city. She doesn't know when Castle had it delivered, but she's kept it tucked away ever since. She's still surprised he gave it to her. She remembers having to cajole him for the chance to read _Heat Wave_, and he never even gave her the chance to wheedle an advanced copy of _Naked Heat_ out of him. Yet somehow, after the summer and their standoff had ended, a copy had found its way onto her bookshelf. She still has no recollection of him showing up with it in his hands, no idea when he sneaked it beside the others in the Richard Castle Collection. Now she has _Heat Rises_, too. It waits for her just like its writer. It reminds her of all the ways she still isn't where she wants to be.

Her current read joins a pile of other discarded books and magazines – failed attempts to calm down or amuse herself in the last two days. This is why she needs to go back to work. She needs to _do_ something, focus on something other than herself and her failings. If she has to leave the house, she will have to push the panic and the noise away and be okay.

Getting to her feet again takes effort, but she's glad to have headed off another opportunity to fall asleep. She may spend the next few hours wearing a path in her hardwood floors, but at least she won't wake up screaming again for now. And she won't have to feel guilty that his book sits unopened, half-peeking out at her from a batch of things she brought back from the cabin. She will read it, just not today. Not while it's all so fresh. She hasn't been spoiled for it, per say, but she knows Castle well enough to know just enough of their lives have probably bled into the lives of their fictional counterparts. It will make getting through it painful.

Still, after her feet take her to the kitchen for a glass of cold water, they take her to the book. She sighs. Typical Castle. He's not even here and he can't leave her alone. Immediately she chastises herself for that thought. He's given her plenty of time and space. He's left her alone far longer than the man who flirted, annoyed, and babbled his way through their first official meeting ever could have managed. The least she can do is be kind to him in her thoughts.

She grabs the book after a second of thought, holding it to her chest as she scurries back to the couch. Already she feels better, making the connection with his words, even if they're the ones on the cover. Even if she can't turn the page just yet, she'll take solace from holding it.

Beside her, her phone chirps, reminding her quickly of the message she sent her partner earlier. She hasn't heard back from him, which feels like more of a relief than it should. She knows she did the right thing reaching out to him even if it was only to turn him down, but she still feels bad about disappointing him. She'll try again tomorrow, she will. Hopefully he'll be willing to try with her.

He must know she's wondering about him, because this time the message is from him. She expects a thoughtful, calm, but disappointed response, which is why she's so confused when his reply is cheerfully telling her he'll be over at five, the soonest he can. What? That is not what she asked him to do. She knows she asked him to –

Come over. She looks at her message, her supposed refusal, only to find a somewhat plaintive request to join her if he can. It isn't the message she intended to write.

But maybe it's the message she needed to write. The message that gets her what she wants.

Him.


	2. Two Meals

_Note: Thank you so much to everyone for your responses to Chapter One! Believe me when I say I'm truly overwhelmed by them. I hope you'll continue to enjoy the journey this story takes you on._

**Seeking Clarity**

**Chapter Two - Two Meals**

* * *

><p>She doesn't turn him away.<p>

She knows she could have told him she'd changed her mind any number of times in the hours between her entreaty for him to come over and his arrival on her doorstep. But she didn't. And when he shows up at just a few minutes after five o'clock, looking handsome but worn and in need of a break, she knows she could tell him to go. But she doesn't. She invites him in wordlessly, stepping back and pulling the cuffs of her oversized sweatshirt – her father's – down over her knuckles. Once he's inside she asks if he's thirsty, or ready to eat just yet. She could turn him away, but she welcomes him instead.

"Water's great. And we can eat whenever you want to. I'm not picky," he answers softly. She isn't sure if he's quiet out of respect for her, to keep from being too much for her to handle, or if he's quiet because his voice is shot from greeting and flirting with one too many groupies.

Truthfully, she's not that hungry. She forced more toast down around lunchtime and her stomach may or may not welcome anything else. But she'll heat up the mac and cheese for him as promised.

"Now?" she offers as she fills his glass. Their fingers brush on the handoff, making him smile.

"Sure, if you're hungry."

He is hoarse, she notices. Her lip finds its way between her teeth as something resembling white-hot need stabs through her belly. She kind of likes a hoarse Castle. She wonders if that's what he'll sound like after – after she's better. After she can deal with everything.

She clears her throat quickly, shaking her head. "Not really hungry."

Castle nods. "Same here," he admits. "Lunch was a pretty big spread."

She smiles. "I bet. And how were the groupies today?" It almost resembles a normal conversation topic, so she mentally pats herself on the back. She cradles her own water to her chest and gestures for him to sit somewhere.

"Couldn't get enough of me, as always."

"Oh as always," she teases, settling across the couch from him. "How difficult it must be to be you."

He tries to hide a grin behind his glass, but she sees anyway. "It's tough, but I manage."

"I'm sure you do." She sips, lifting an eyebrow quickly. She's not sure how he does it, but she actually does feel better, even after just a few minutes of going back and forth.

"I'm glad you got it," he says quietly. She follows his sightline to see the book on the table where she left it after going against her better judgment and opening it up. She's already read six chapters. It hurt at times, seeing the fictitious version of herself struggle with the possibility of her Captain's betrayal. It hurt, being reminded of Castle's absence the summer before, though his apology-via-alter-ego was a nice touch. It made her forgive him all over again.

She nods. "Thank you. For it, I mean. I just started, really. I couldn't before." Her cheeks heat up a little at the admission.

"It's not a race, Kate. Take your time. It's your copy; it's not going anywhere."

Her eyes cut sharply to his. They both know he isn't just talking about the book. They're both well aware that the book is just the polite cover (hasn't it always been?) for everything else between them. He lets that promise stay out there between them without another word. It's a reminder of what he said in the grass, only it's gentler this time, less raw.

Less terrifying.

"Thanks," she whispers, wishing her gratitude didn't sound so pathetically lame even to her own ears.

She knows he's dying to ask if her reaction means she's remembered more, remembered something that _should_ be recalled. But he doesn't. He just smiles. For the first time in a long time, maybe even since he looked at her bashfully over a bouquet of beautiful, bright flowers (her favorite flowers, no less), it reaches his eyes.

"So, funny story from my afternoon," he clears his throat, driving the conversation back into safe territory.

She rolls her eyes for effect, but it's only because she's sticking to the script, their script: he says something off the wall, she rolls her eyes and pretends it isn't endearing or amusing. This time she leans on her hand, listening intently as he describes the antics of one of his fans. One of the women apparently decided to try to sit in his lap as he signed her book. She'd been so committed to the cause, she climbed on the table and in her attempt to crawl over to him, nearly toppled the entire set up. He'd ended up with a lapful of woman and about twelve copies of his own novel.

"I even have a bruise on my chin, Beckett. Her elbow caught me and that thing _hurt_."

"Oh you poor thing. Women throwing themselves at you can be so hazardous."

"Beckett, it _hurt._"

She laughs softly, shaking her head at the indignant little boy look on his face.

"And it wasn't like I asked for her to climb over the table. In fact, I asked people _not_ to climb over the table. It was a very specific request."

She laughs again, watching as her hand snakes over to tough the red spot on his chin on its own accord. Her fingertips tingle at the contact, and from the look on his face, it seems he's feeling something similar. His eyes widen. She watches his lips – the lips she tries so hard not to think about – part just a little.

"Bec – Kate," he breathes.

"Want ice?" she interrupts, removing her hand from his face. Before he can answer, she leaps to her feet, using the twinge in her side to remind her why all of this is a bad idea right now, no matter how soft and inviting he looks on her couch. Even if he doesn't want ice, he's getting ice, if only so she can give herself a few seconds in front of the freezer and revel in the chill on her cheeks.

She's an adult, damn it. There is no reason a simple touch should do this to her.

She returns once she's gotten control of herself, the ice pack her father bought before dropping her off the other day clutched in her hand. The towel she's wrapped around it prevents the chill from being painful, but she's still happy to hand it over to Castle. She's careful to keep their fingers from touching this time and she settles a little farther away. The flash of disappointment, even hurt, is obvious, but he doesn't say anything other than a quiet thanks.

She's almost disappointed, too. He shouldn't let her off the hook, but he does. He always does.

"How's Alexis? And Martha?" She beats back the flash of shame for not thinking about them before now. She honestly has no idea where they are or what they're doing. In fact, she's probably keeping him from them now.

"They're both good," he says. His tone makes her sure they're anything but good and her heart thuds in her chest. More collateral damage thanks to her. "Mother's hard at work with her school and Alexis is… handling saying goodbye to Ashley."

"Is she still planning to graduate early?"

She expects that pinched, slightly pained look. "I think she is. She hasn't said anything about it lately, though."

She nods, resting her chin on her knee. He's not asking for advice so she has nothing to offer besides a sympathetic look. Her own father had been a wreck when she left for Stanford, no matter how proud he was. And that was normal admissions. She has no idea what he would've done if she'd applied for early admission.

"How's your dad?"

Point taken. He doesn't want to talk about Alexis.

"He's good. Back at work. He wanted to come over today, but I convinced him to stay."

Castle nods and she sees his shoulders relax a little. It means a lot to him that she'd turned her dad down and still asked for him. Good, she's done something right so far.

"He insisted on taking me to my appointments tomorrow," she adds, possibly before he can offer to do it himself. That would be too much and she's not sure she has the heart to hurt him again by turning him away.

"Good, that's good."

She nods. "It'll be a long day, but I wanted to get as many of the visits over with quickly."

"Rip the band aid off, so to speak," he muses, nodding thoughtfully.

"Yeah, exactly."

She exhales as silence settles between them. The thought of Castle as someone even capable of silence still surprises her sometimes, but at the same time, it loosens a knot in her chest. They're not so different, really, and tonight she's doing the talking for them both. For possibly the first time ever. He's not expecting her to talk, he's not forcing her into it with inane conversation, he's just letting her be and taking what she's capable of offering, however small it is. But she's still talking.

"You hungry?" she asks, taking another mental step toward him. She's finally a little hungry herself. Maybe it's time to be a better hostess, even if she can't be a better partner yet.

"Sure. Can I help?"

"It's just macaroni and cheese, Castle." She's already on her feet again, moving to the kitchen before he takes it upon himself to do it for her.

"That doesn't mean I can't help, Beckett. I'm a helpful guy."

She smiles without even meaning to, giving him the barest nod. "Alright, fine. Grab plates."

He's bounding over before her sentence is even finished, eyes alit with his usual joy.

"How's the war wound?" She looks over her shoulder.

The side of his face is red, but that could easily be from the cold and not from where some bimbo clobbered him. Her fingers itch to touch the spot again, but she refrains, grabbing the largest of the mac and cheese containers from the fridge.

He flexes his jaw. "I'll live. Might start signing from behind a cage, though."

"No you won't. You won't be able to reach their chests that way."

"That's fair. Maybe I need a helmet, then. One with a solid chin guard."

"Mhmm, maybe." They share a smile and it feels good. It really feels good. "You know you should consider yourself lucky you didn't need your jaw wired shut, Castle. I can only imagine how terrible that would've been." She grins, stirring the mac and cheese before turning to the microwave.

"Funny." He's dry, but still smiling and it feels entirely too normal to have him working beside her like this. This has never been their normal behavior, not really. Maybe with the exception of the few days she lived under his roof. It had been good then, too good. So of course, she'd run from it. She'd run to her dad's and then into the first sublet she could find, and he… well she still remembers Ellie Monroe. She'd run from it, but so had he. But here they are again, side by side in the kitchen almost two years later, trading teases and soft smiles.

And she's not ready, still. Everything is still so fucked up in her head, no matter how much she wants to be better. Standing around her kitchen goofing off one evening doesn't change that. It's a bad idea to even pretend. She's not fit for anything yet, even this.

Somewhere far off, she hears the slam, a distinct thud. She knows she's heard it hundreds of times before, but it sends her to her knees.

"Kate!" He sounds the same. Exactly the way he sounded as she hit the ground that day in the cemetery. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. "Kate, breathe," he says and his voice is different this time, different than it was before. Than it was that day.

She's panting and her chest aches with the strain. Pain blooms from her knees, cutting into the fuzzy edges of her vision.

"Deep breaths, Kate. Look at me."

Oh god, he's still here? He's still here. Castle's still here witnessing this. He's speaking and no matter how hard she tries to hear it all, it's just not registering.

"You're okay," he promises.

She doesn't feel okay. She isn't okay. She hurts, she's ripped apart. She's so far from okay, it isn't even funny.

Cool air blows across her face, easing her out of the tailspin. She gulps in a breath, then another one. It quiets the hitch, the stutter of hyperventilation.

"There you go, deep breaths, Kate. When I breathe out, you breathe in. Okay?"

She gulps again, following his lead. He hums in encouragement and the low rumble washes over her just as easily as his breath. She feels the fuzziness fade a little with each breath she takes, his face sharpening across from hers.

His smile is gentle but it can't mask his concern. She feels him push her hair off her face as he blows another arc across her forehead.

"Hey," he breathes. "It's gonna be okay."

She can't answer, can't argue even though she wants to. Instead, she focuses on him. On the purse of his lips as he exhales. It's her cue to inhale. Her face tingles with each breath, tiny pinpricks of awareness returning.

Castle nods encouragingly, shifting toward her a little more. His hand curls around her shoulder and she realizes how tightly she's gripping his shirt. When did she do that? She should release him, but she can't make herself let him go. He's the only thing anchoring her to this moment, the only thing keeping her from flying apart completely, lost in the chaos that makes up her life.

"You're doing great, you are." He keeps murmuring encouragement, stroking his thumb over her shoulder, up her neck. Part of her wants to tell him to shove it up his ass. She isn't doing great, not even close.

"Kate, you are. Trust me, you are."

Trust him? How the hell would he know? She's barely surviving right now.

"Trust me, Kate." He's firmer this time, more assured, and her eyes flit to his. "You can do this. You've got this."

His hand covers hers on his chest, thumb sliding across her knuckles. "You're not okay yet and that's okay. You will be."

She exhales shakily, feeling her fingers unfurl under the weight of his hand. She's not okay. She's not, but she will be. He believes that. As surely as he believes in magic and Christmas, hell, maybe even aliens, too. He believes she's going to be okay. He believes in her. She can let him believe in her, even if she doesn't believe a bit of it herself.

The will to argue leaves her as she nods, sinking into him without another thought. To his credit, he doesn't say a word. He doesn't make a joke about her throwing herself at him; something along the lines of if she wants his attention, all she has to do is ask. He's just silent, steady. His arm moves around her and she feels her knees sing in relief as he takes her weight instead.

"It was the neighbor," she says finally. Her voice sounds flat to her own ears, broken. "The door. Just the neighbor."

He nods. The early stages of his five o'clock shadow catch her hair, moving it just a little with each bob of his head. It's not unpleasant, none of this is, except for how they got here.

Still, Castle doesn't speak, though she just knows the questions are poised on his tongue. She knows he wants to know if this happens often. She knows he wants to know if she's usually alone when it does happen. He probably wants to know how she's going to fool a department shrink into thinking she's fit for duty when she's just made it damn clear she's not.

Instead, he looks around in horror. "You dropped the macaroni and cheese."

He sounds so distraught, she can only laugh. It's such an absurd reaction, there's nothing else for her to do. It bubbles out of her before she can stop it, and it continues until tears stream down her cheeks, wetting his shirt without remorse. Finally, her sides ache for a good reason.

"G-good thing there are four more containers in there," she pants finally, realizing she can catch her breath again. She's exhausted, completely wiped, but she can catch her breath again.

Which is all he wanted to achieve with that comment, she's sure.

Damn, he does love her. He really does.

* * *

><p>He's waiting for her when she gets home from her appointments the next day. She's physically and emotionally exhausted and she wants to tell him to go, but he's all soft smiles and hopeful eyes, and he's been waiting for who knows how long; she can't bring herself to make him leave. He helps. As much as she doesn't want to admit it, he helps and he always has.<p>

"I wasn't sure when you'd be home, so I didn't bring you food. But if you're hungry, dinner is on me. We can order, or I can have groceries delivered and make you something," he babbles nervously, running his fingers through his hair.

After spending all day being poked and prodded, she's absolutely not in the mood for food. She picked at her lunch, much to her father's disapproval, but she still isn't hungry now. She's finally getting rid of one of the medications that makes her feel the sickest, but the prescription doesn't run out until the end of the week. Until then she'll just have to muddle through, following her doctor's advice to try and eat even if she gets sick. He's concerned about her weight and he won't sign off on her physical until she gains a few pounds.

She nods, rubbing her fingers over her forehead. "Come in. I'm just going to change clothes. That okay?"

He nods rapidly. "Sure, yeah. Do you have a preference? Take out or delivery groceries?"

She waves her hand over her shoulder, dropping her bag to the side. "Whatever's easiest, Castle. I'm not really that hungry." She's trying, she is. And to his credit, he doesn't seem to be offended by her less than stellar conversation.

"I'll get groceries delivered."

"Mhmm." She leaves him in her kitchen, checking the fridge and pantry to take stock of what she already has. Her dad offered to bring more groceries when he picked her up earlier, but she wouldn't let him. She also didn't let him walk her up, and now she's glad he isn't here. The last thing she needs is her father and her partner teaming up against her.

Teaming up _for_ her, the voice that sounds strangely like her brand new department mandated shrink says. Dr. Burke is nice, and she knows he's good at his job, but she still bristles at having to go _back_ in order to be cleared for duty. She'd expected to show up, say as many of the right things as she could, and get her shiny certification to go back to work. Instead, today was his chance to meet her before scheduling a follow-up appointment to take care of her actual evaluation. She'll tell him what he needs to hear then.

She changes her clothes quickly so Castle isn't left to his own devices for too long. If she's not careful, he might end up completely restocking her fridge or making her ten more pounds of mac and cheese. He means well, but she can't take another vat of macaroni and cheese. If he insists on cooking for her, she desperately hopes he'll choose something else.

She tries not to stare when she emerges from the bedroom. He's still puttering around the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up comfortably. He looks like he belongs there. She hears him mumbling under his breath and realizes it's a song he's half-singing. Has he always been this cute and she never noticed? No, she's always known – at least once annoying as hell gave way to cute. She's just forgotten.

She clears her throat softly, letting him know she's there.

He doesn't even flinch, which tells her he knows she's been watching him.

"Feel a little better?" he asks, glancing up from his task to meet her eyes. She flushes a little at getting caught admiring him so openly, but she nods anyway.

"Yeah, comfortable clothes help." She tugs the hem on her sweater down a little more, even though it falls nearly to her knees already. She's had it since high school, since her 'wear everything two or three sizes too big' phase, but she knows just from the flash in Castle's eyes that he's assuming it's someone else's. Jealousy, thy name is Rick.

"Castle," she calls, tilting her head. "It's mine. I bought it at the Salvation Army when I was in the tenth grade." Stepping closer, she flops the sleeve in his direction for emphasis.

"I didn't –"

"I know. You were very loudly not," she hums, lifting an eyebrow. "And for the record, the sweatshirt yesterday was my dad's."

He looks stunned and she wonders if it's because she knew exactly where his mind went or because, for possibly the first time, she's being (mostly) straightforward with him. There are no jokes about imaginary boyfriends, no flirting with other writers to get under his skin, no taunts about another man's accomplishments. She can't give him much right now, but she can give him that.

Thankfully, he seems to understand her intentions and his face relaxes into a smile, a real one. One that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, inviting her fingers to reach for him and share in his joy. It shouldn't be this easy to make him happy.

"It's just comfy and loose. Most of my shirts rub…"

He nods in understanding. "Say no more. Drink?"

"Water."

"Coming up." He's filling a glass before she can even remind him where they are and why she can get it herself. "So, um, can I ask about your appointments?"

She sips slowly. "I dunno, Castle, can you?"

He laughs, rubbing his neck. "Touché. How did they go?" He's bolder this time, not giving her the chance to deny his right to ask.

"Fi –" she stops mid-word. "Not fine. I'm still not cleared to go back to work. The damn shrink wanted to 'meet me' before he would evaluate me. The doctor says another few weeks until he thinks I'm strong enough and all the meds are done. The cardiologist was the only one to come back with decent news, otherwise today was a lot of nothing." She slumps against the counter, glad to have let it all out. Putting on a happy, optimistic face for her father tired her out. "I just want to go back to work, Castle. I want…I need to work the case."

"Kate, you don't –"

"Yes I do, Castle. I do. I have to get it done. I'm never going to be able to move on if I don –"

His hand covers hers, jolting her into taking a deep breath. Shit, had she been about to lose it again?

"Kate, we'll get it done. But we'll never get anywhere if you push yourself too hard too soon."

"Castle."

"Beckett," he echoes. "We will do this. You will do this. But for right now you worry about pleasing the doctors. And then once you've done that we can work on this."

"Did you… you were helping the investigation before you left the precinct, weren't you?"

It's a stupid question; she knows he was. She's sure he was there every day, as often as he could be, until the new captain told him to leave. For all she knows he could still be working on it on the side. If he is, she wants in.

"Yeah I was."

"What'd you find?"

"Kate, please."

"Castle," she insists, pushing her shoulders back so she can stand taller. "I need to know."

He shakes his head. "Not yet you don't."

"No not yet. Why do you get to choose?" She slaps her palms on the countertop. "Did you forget this is _my_ case? Mine. You're not the one who gets to decide."

Vaguely, she recognizes the familiar argument, and knows how likely it is that she'll say something she doesn't mean if they keep going like this.

"I'm not deciding anything, Kate. I'm asking you to wait." His words are surprisingly calm, calmer than the tense set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes indicates he's really feeling. "I'm asking you to wait until you're stronger."

"I am strong, Castle. I don't need you, or my dad, or a damn therapist babying me. I'm _fine_, I'm strong."

"Beckett, you had a – "

"Don't say it," she warns, stopping just short of telling him if he says it, if he breaks the unspoken rule and talks about her incident, he can get out. Her jaw clenches as their eyes meet. Silently, she dares him to test her resolve.

Whatever his response would have been is lost when a firm hand lands against her door. She jumps and she knows he sees it, but he doesn't comment in favor of moving to the door and accepting the delivery. For that, she can ignore the wad of bills he hands the delivery boy along with his thanks for getting the groceries here quickly.

She hates fighting with him. Once upon a time, she might have said differently, but she hates it now. Gone are the days where their arguments were tempered with a desire to find the nearest hard surface and solve the problem by fucking each other blind. Now their arguments flay her from the inside out, taking what's already tattered and ripping it into even smaller pieces. Her chest aches again; the space between her breasts feels heavy against her sternum. It echoes the heaviness in the air, the tension between them.

And like that, the fight leaves her.

She slumps. "I'm going to sit."

Really, she has no idea why she's bothering to tell him; it isn't as if he can't see her shamble to the couch and drop. It isn't as if he can't see her give in and draw her knees to her chest to ward off the rest of the world. But she tells him and his answering acknowledgement makes her feel a little bit better.

She lets herself drift, somewhere between dozing and daydreaming, as he unloads the groceries onto her already limited counter space and gets something started on her stove. It strikes her again how at home he is here. Of course, Castle has a tendency to make himself at home anywhere – her precinct in the early days, for one – but it's actually nice to have him at home in her kitchen.

When the blanket slides over her, she puts up a token protest, but he assures her he'll wake her when it's time to eat.

"M'not sleepin', Cassel." She sits up a little, blinking blearily into her warmly lit living room. Castle nods from a surprisingly polite distance before he gestures to the coffee table.

"I brought your phone and your water in."

"Thanks," she exhales, rubbing her face. "What time is it?" She has to take her pills soon.

Castle tells her quickly, glancing over his shoulder at the stovetop. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, I'm fine." Gathering the blanket around her, she settles back again. She dozed off for longer than she realized, now she has to try to stay awake.

"Kay." He leaves her again; going back to the stove to stir whatever it is he's cooking.

She watches him closely as he works. His movements are fluid and almost graceful, the movements of a man who knows his way around a kitchen, but his jaw is still tight. He's not humming or showing off. He's still angry.

"What're you making in there, Iron Chef?"

It rolls off her tongue, surprising them both. Playful isn't how either of them seem to be feeling, but he goes with it. His description of their meal is suitably Castle-esque, which makes her feel a little better about their fight. It seems to help him, too. If he can still be Castle, she can be Beckett.

"So it's chicken. That's what you're saying?"

"Beckett, it's not just any chicken. It's my world famous chicken."

"Of course it is. Do you have anything that isn't world famous?"

"Not if I can help it."

"Yeah that sounds right." She offers him a contrite smile. "So, Bobby Flay, can I do anything to help?"

It's her peace offering, the best she can do so far.

"Just relax, Beckett. I have this under control."

"Okay, okay." She bites her lip, watching as he starts to put on more of a show. For her, obviously. Of course, from what she remembers of her stay at the loft, he'll put on a show for anyone who'll watch.

"What? No fire? I expected more flair, Castle," she teases him softly. Guilt stabs through her; once again, they're not talking about it. Once again, she fought him and now neither of them is willing to do more than make a joke and move on. Well, he might be, but he isn't pushing her not to fall back on the old habit.

"Oh, fire's one of my moves, but it doesn't work for this meal."

"Damn."

She laughs softly when he tosses their meal and manages to make sure most of it ends up back in the pan.

"I'll, I'll clean that up," he assures. "Don't worry about that."

"Oh I'm not." She grins, feeling the long-abandoned muscles in her cheeks stretch with the effort. "Maker of the mess fixes it, Castle. That's the rule."

His eyes meet hers from across the room, the challenge plain even at this distance. She's made a mess; is she fixing it? They've both made messes; are they fixing them together? Separately? Not at all? She can only nod in promise.

"Might be a big job, cleaning up." He grabs a paper towel for emphasis.

"Sometimes it is. Sometimes it's hard to know where to start."

She pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders. It's her shield against this conversation.

"So you pick a place and just start." He makes it sound so much easier than it is.

"And if you make a bigger mess in the process?" Like she's been doing these last few days, months, years, whatever.

"Then you keep working to clean it. And maybe you accidentally leave something out on the counter overnight," he stops and lifts the container of butter for emphasis before going on, "but it'll survive until you put it back in the fridge. It'll be a little soft for a while, but it'll survive."

Only a writer could use butter in a conversation about her getting her shit together. What aspect the butter represents, she's not entirely sure, but he's telling her it'll be okay. He's confident it'll be okay, so she nods.

"Just don't drop my dinner on the floor, Castle. It's the maid's month off."

"Ahh, the five second rule always applies, Beckett. What's a little dirt going to hurt?"

She smiles again, hearing what he's saying without saying a little more clearly this time. A little dust up like earlier won't ruin them. It won't ruin whatever dish they're creating together.

"Yeah," she says finally. "Yeah that's true."

He smiles and she sees the rest of the tension is gone. "Good. Dinner is served." He grabs their plates for emphasis.

"Thanks." She sits up even more, but doesn't leave the chair until he's close enough for her to take the plate from his hands. For the first time in a long time, her stomach growls instead of revolting. The noise makes Castle look proud.

"Eat up, it's a masterpiece."

She rolls her eyes, but her first bite confirms it.

It is a masterpiece.


	3. A New Normal

**Seeking Clarity**

**Chapter Three - A New Normal**

* * *

><p>Somehow sharing their evenings becomes something normal. They don't talk about how it happens, not really, but each night he shows up and she lets him in. No matter how good or bad her day's been, she lets him in. Sometimes he comes with groceries in hand and sometimes those are delivered later, as he entertains her with tales of his book signings and the characters who show up to them. It's a nice glimpse of the outside world without her needing to actually go out.<p>

Truthfully, she doesn't often venture beyond her apartment building, not if she can help it. Her trips to the doctor – more tests before she can be cleared – are usually enough for her. Otherwise, she's taken to escaping to her own roof during the days. It's a battle to keep from looking between the buildings for unnatural glints of light (some days she succeeds and some days she doesn't) but still she goes up. She hunkers down in her little rooftop alcove with a book and lets the sun warm her face. It's getting easier, thankfully. She's on a more even keel most of the time. Another couple of days and she's sure she'll be good as new.

She knows she's getting better because she doesn't even balk when Castle asks if she wants company after her evaluation appointment with Burke. Truthfully, she probably won't, but her efforts to try for him have her agreeing. She's been managing reasonably well so far; even on the bad days when she spends most of her waking hours lost in her own head, she still opens the door to him. That won't change after another appointment with the shrink. Theoretically, at least.

Still, she has to give him an out. "I might be a bear," she warns.

"You mean there's a time when you're not?" His eyebrows lift to go along with the teasing smirk. She doesn't even feel bad about smacking him with the pillow in retaliation.

"Ass."

He laughs easily, settling the pillow between them with a satisfactory thump. "I can meet you at his office and we can do dinner out?"

"Mmm, nowhere crowded." She sips her tea carefully, refusing to look over and see the surprise on his face. "Think you can handle that? Or will your legion of fangirls be a problem?"

"I can handle it, Beckett." He's emphatic, eager to please. She knows he expected her to turn him down. "I have a great place. Don't worry."

"Uh huh, worrying already."

"It's where I go to hide from the legion of fangirls."

"My apartment?" She grins, lifting an eyebrow.

"No, Beckett, I said _hide_, not be in the midst of my fan club president." He shoves his elbow over the pillow in an attempt to keep her from grabbing it and whacking him again.

"You can't be your own fan club president, Castle. That's just sad." She looks over and grins.

Their eyebrows lift simultaneously and they dissolve into giggles. It's not funny, but it is funny. Ridiculously funny. It feels good, too, laughing at each other. It feels normal.

It takes a few tries before she's able to look at him without giggling, but eventually she gets herself under control. He offers her an easy smile in return. He feels it, too, the way normalcy is settling on their shoulders. The way the good days are starting to outnumber the bad ones.

Her laughing fit manages to bring her closer to him, but she doesn't move. The pillow's still between them, but their shoulders and arms brush. It's nice. He's warm and solid, calming. She wishes she could be that for him.

"Castle?"

"Hmm?"

"How's Alexis really?" She bites her lip. He never says much, apart from assuring her he's not needed elsewhere when she asks. If she asks. More often than not she doesn't. She's selfish with him, she knows. She's selfish and no matter how hard she tries not to be, she can't stop.

He opens his mouth and she expects his usual perfunctory answer. "Angry. She's angry."

"At me?" she asks before she can stop herself. Of course she assumes everything is about her.

"At you, at me, at Ashley for leaving." Well, at least he doesn't lie to her. His head drops back. "She's angry at the situation most, I think."

"The situation?" She swallows. She thinks she knows where this is going.

"Seeing you get hurt, the inves – the work I was helping with, everything with her boyfriend."

It's a diplomatic answer, more diplomatic than she would've expected from him, but it tells her enough. Even needing diplomacy to have this conversation tells her enough. He's conveniently left out how she treated him after the hospital in his explanation for why Alexis is angry, but she has to assume that's part of it, too.

"I'm sorry. I should tell her that. I'm sorry she had to see any of that, and I'm sorry for all of it."

She's not just apologizing to his absent daughter, she's apologizing to him again, too. For leaving him to handle the fallout while she couldn't.

He just nods. She's not sure if he believes Alexis will believe her. She isn't sure either, but she'll try when she sees the girl next.

"Anyway," he continues, clearing his throat. "She's with Ashley again."

"What about tomorrow night?"

He looks confused. "Tomorrow night?"

"When you take me to your fangirl haven, where's Alexis going to be?" She looks up, biting her lip.

His mouth opens and closes quickly, like he's surprised she's even asking. "Oh, um… out with Ashley or some of her other friends. They're trying to make the most of the rest of their summer."

"Bring her." It slips out before she overthinks it. Before she remembers why it's going to be difficult enough to face him after venturing out and having her appointment with Burke. "I mean, if she's home and has nothing to do, don't leave her behind. Okay?"

He nods thoughtfully. "Okay. I'll mention it to her."

"Kay." That's good, it is. It's a step. She's never been exceedingly close with Alexis, but she knows hurting Castle hurts his daughter. And she's hurt him, no matter how he tries to brush it off by still showing up every day, so she needs to make it up to them both.

Castle's up as soon as the oven beeps. He's prepared another Castle specialty tonight. With the last of the nauseating medication finished days ago, her mouth actually waters when he takes their dinner out. It smells delicious.

He smiles when she tells him that; it's a tad more demure than she used to expect from her partner, and he thanks her equally as humbly. "I just hope it tastes as good as it smells."

"I mean it, Castle, it's always delicious. Thank you."

She's not sure she's ever thanked him, at least not like this, if the look on his face is any indication. It's a realization that makes her sad. Is she that terrible to him? Some partner she is.

"You're welcome, Kate. I mean that."

Usually he makes her wait on the couch while he plates their dinner, but tonight she joins him in the kitchen. She leaves her tea mug on the counter, forgoing the rest of the tepid liquid in favor of a bottle of water. Two bottles end up in her hand, one for her and one for him. He hasn't opened wine yet (probably in deference to the fact that she still shouldn't have any), so it's a fair guess that water will be okay.

"This good?" she asks as an afterthought.

"Yeah, that's good. Thanks."

She nods. "Table or couch?" It's the first time she's asked about that, too, but it doesn't faze him.

"Up to you. Are you stiff?"

She cocks her head, contemplating. "A little, but sitting at the table might help. Something about retraining my muscles properly."

Her physical therapist – another new acquisition – keeps telling her she slouches too much in compensation for the ache in her side. He tells her sitting up at work will be a bitch if she doesn't start now. That's incentive enough to try eating at the table.

"Are you sure?" Her partner looks uncertain, which is sweet.

"Yeah, I need to stop slouching on the couch. I think I can manage to eat at the table like a grown up for one night." She lifts an eyebrow in challenge. "Can you?"

"Oh-ho-ho, Beckett, are you challenging me to a grown up-off?"

"Maybe I am." She grins, shifting on her feet.

"You're on," he accepts, already sprinting to the table with their plates. She rolls her eyes, scooting after him.

* * *

><p>Her session with Burke comes at the end of a long day. She managed to get a last-minute appointment with her physical therapist after finally getting the all clear from her doctor. She's not at full strength yet, but her test results look good. She's done with the pills. It's over the counter stuff from here on out. And finally, finally she can have coffee again (and wine, but coffee's the more important thing). Caffeine is no longer banned. Thank God.<p>

According to her cardiologist, her heart is strong – physically – and there seem to be no ill effects from either the bullet or the surgery to repair the round's damage. She'll have regular checkups to be sure, but both doctors have already signed and faxed the paperwork to the suits at 1PP. Once she gets Burke's clearance, she'll be off disability and off leave within a week. Back at work, finally.

But even that incentive isn't enough to make her _want_ to perch in this arm chair like a sitting duck beside tall windows and larger, taller buildings. They're the perfect hiding spots for anyone looking to take her out, but she tries to ignore the behemoth next door and focus on her therapist. The therapist, not hers. She's here to be cleared and nothing else.

"So tell me, Kate, how's your recovery been?"

He led with this question last time, too, and she knows it's to put her at ease. It's a tactic she uses all the time in interrogations; ask the easy, innocent questions and then go in for the harder ones.

"Fine. Boring. I'm ready for it to be over." It's not her most subtle hint, but it earns her an amused half-smile from Burke.

"When we spoke last, you said you had no recollection of your shooting. Has anything come back to you?"

Well, so much for the softball questions. She takes a moment to sip the water his admin provided on her way in, using the distraction to banish the memories and plan her response. It's a stalling tactic she's been on the other end of many times before, but he just waits. Burke's done this before, too.

"No, nothing."

He nods at that but doesn't comment. "Give it time. The mind has a way of protecting itself until you're ready. How have you been sleeping?"

This time she's prepared with her poker face.

"The soreness made it hard to sleep, but that's not a problem now." It's only a half answer, but again Burke nods and doesn't call her on it. Part of her wonders _why_ he won't call her on it. Castle's been calling her on her shit, why not the shrink?

"I get plenty of sleep, though," she adds, sounding too defensive for her liking. She takes a deep breath, urging herself to remember the plan. Get cleared and get back to work. Find her shooter; find the man who had her mentor and her mother murdered. Then she'll be free and maybe finally she'll feel the weight of everything settle somewhere other than her chest. Maybe she'll finally be able to make good on the apologies she's been giving Castle.

It takes a minute, but she realizes Burke is talking again. Asking another question, no doubt.

"I'm sorry, what?" She focuses on him again, finding no recrimination in his eyes for her daydreams.

"I asked how you've been spending your time off. Have you seen your friends since we last spoke?"

Her face feels a little hot. She still hasn't spoken to anyone, save for her father and Castle. In fact, she's nearly taken Castle's head off the two times he's asked about seeing the others. He even offered to do the calling, do the small talk and get them to her apartment. And she's still refused.

"No I haven't. Only Castle. And I mostly read. Sometimes I sit on the roof and read. Castle and I eat dinner. I go to my appointments." She shrugs. "I recuperate. That's what I'm supposed to do, right?"

"Do you feel ready to go back to work?"

She answers yes immediately. She's fit for duty physically. Mentally the unsteadiness will fade once she's back out there, she's sure.

"Why haven't you called your friends, Kate?"

"Because I'm going to see them at work when you clear me. They have work to do. They've been working my case."

"You don't think they would've liked to see you?"

She pulls her feet into the chair. "I think they would've, but they'll understand why I couldn't talk."

"Why is that? Why couldn't you talk?"

She tugs her sleeve down. "I just needed a break. I needed to get away for a while."

"But you've been seeing Castle."

She fidgets again. "It's complicated."

"Life usually is, Kate."

Well, he isn't wrong there. She takes a moment to sip her drink and collect her thoughts. The water's soothing on her throat. "Castle came to see me in the hospital and I said I'd call. I didn't. So I called when I could."

"You were settling a debt?"

She winces at how it sounds. It's a cold way to put it. A cold way to describe how she reached out to her partner that day.

"No. No I wanted to see him. I wanted to contact him."

Burke nods, looking down at the file in his hand. "Tell me more about this partnership. It's unconventional, wouldn't you say?"

She tries to ignore the flash of panicky blue eyes and a shaky, tear-strained, "I love you, Kate." Yeah, unconventional is one way to describe it.

"It's… different. But it works. He thinks of things we don't. He's… a pain in the ass sometimes, drives me insane, but it'd be harder without him."

"I take it you hope the partnership continues, then?"

Her cheeks flush a little, even though she's mostly sure Burke doesn't mean it like that.

"Are there romantic feelings involved?"

"What?" Her eyes shift to Burke's quickly. Castle's pleas for her to stay with him ring in her ears again. "It's not… romantic, we've never…"

Because she's always hiding in relationships she knows won't last. Castle's known it, too, probably longer than she has.

"I know how to do my job, okay? With or without Castle. I did it long before he showed up and started writing about me. How he feels or how I feel doesn't change that." Her mouth snaps closed as soon as the words come tumbling out. She's said too much.

"And how do you feel, Kate?"

Her mother always lamented her ability to make her face impassive and refuse to give up anything else when she wants to, and that's what she does now. She's done talking about Castle. If she had her way, she'd be done period.

She keeps the rest of her answers short and to the point. When Burke asks, she only gives him the bare minimum, not volunteering anything extra. She's saying the right things; she'll be reinstated, good attitude or bad attitude.

They both know exactly when the hour is up, but this time she waits for Burke to break the silence. It's his turn to be the one on the spot after subjecting her to the hot seat.

"Well, Kate, I've enjoyed talking with you," he begins, smiling patiently when her look suggests he's feeding her bullshit. "And I'd like to extend our sessions –" She starts to protest immediately, but he stops her with a raised hand. "Once you're back at work," he finishes to her relief. "You've been through a traumatic event and it's good to continue to talk even after your life starts going back to normal. I hope you'll fit some time into your schedule."

There's a fat chance of that happening, but she nods anyway. "So I can go back to work?"

"You can go back to work," he confirms, waiting until she's on her feet to emphasize, "but I want to see you if you need anything. Don't hesitate. I'm here to help you, Kate. As are all your friends."

He doesn't have to say Castle's name, but it hangs in the air.

"Thank you." At least she's able to say this honestly. Being back at work will be so much better than sitting around at home.

"I know you're anxious to get out of here, so here's my card. Take care, Kate."

"Thank you," she says again, taking a deep breath as she pockets his card. "I won't say this has been fun, but thank you."

He chuckles at that. "I understand. I'll have your paperwork filed within a day."

She nods, taking a moment before practically tearing out of the office. It isn't until she hits the pavement outside that she remembers the plans she'd made with Castle: dinner somewhere quiet. Possibly with Alexis, but more probably without. Just her and Castle.

Sort of like a date.

It stops her short as Burke's questions come back to her. Are there romantic feelings? She's not sure there ever haven't been, short of maybe the first few weeks when rage and blinding lust took precedence over the potential for romance. But dating? She's not ready for dating. She's barely ready for their dinners.

Her elation at being cleared sinks away, leaving her feeling worn out once more. She needs to go home, take a rain check for dinner, curl up under her bedcovers and relax. She's seen enough people and done enough today. It's earned her a night off, hasn't it? Especially since she's going back to work in a few days. She's done enough.

She just has to call him or text him, something to tell him she needs tonight to herself. Just tonight to recuperate from everything; the stress test and the poking and prodding her brain and her body have been subjected to all day long. He's probably already on the way, though, and probably won't get the message until he's here. Truthfully, she's surprised he's not already here. She'll just have to wait, then, and tell him to his face. She scans the sidewalk on either side of her and then across the street to see if she can spot him. Telling him in person will be hard, but she'll have to. Even if he has Alexis with him, she'll have to.

She slumps against the brick behind her, shielding her eyes from the late afternoon sun. What a fine mess she's about to make. Especially if Alexis is with Castle. What good is she doing inviting the girl if she's just going to bail on her?

"Kate!"

She starts, eyes snapping open. They'd slipped shut while she argued with herself. A quick survey of the street has her wincing as he partner darts across the street to get to her faster. She sucks in a breath as a cab gets entirely too close to his hip for her liking. It comes out in a slow stream when he makes it to safety.

"Kate, hey."

"Hey, Castle." Somehow, most of her resolve to call for a rain check has fled, leaving her watching him warily. He's out of breath, hair flopping across his forehead in the heat. "You do know New York has crosswalks, right? And they're better than almost getting yourself killed."

"I know, but this was more direct. Especially since I'm late. I made the mistake of taking a call from Paula about my signings next week. She added three more so now I'm doing two a day a couple times and – " he slows, shaking his head. "Long story, but that's the gist. I'll spare you the rest of the details."

Her head tilts in confusion at his sudden turnaround, before a tiny smile appears her lips. "Two a day, huh? Are you going to be okay against two fangirl hoards?"

Castle laughs. "You mock, but it is exhausting work."

"Sure it is, Castle."

He smiles softly. "So uh, are you a bear tonight, Beckett?"

"Thought you said I was always one?" Her eyebrow lifts. The reminder of their conversation has her feeling almost playful.

"Yes, well. I mostly ask in case you'd rather not go to dinner."

He looks almost nervous to ask and her stomach lurches in response. He's giving her an out. The same out she'd been rehearsing since walking out of the therapist's office. It's what she thought she wanted just a few minutes ago.

She doesn't take it.

"Come on, Castle. Show me your safe haven. I'm starving."

She pushes off the wall, waiting for him to point her in their dinner's general direction. She turns away as his face melts into a relieved grin.

"This way then, Beckett."

She hums in response, glancing over her shoulder at him. "If the actual Richard Castle Fan Club finds us, I'm leaving you there to fend for yourself."

He laughs. "Ah, there's the loyalty I expect. I hope you'll at least get our dinner to go, so once I escape their clutches I can eat?"

"Sure, Castle, I can do that for you."

"My hero."

Her elbow nudges his as they walk. He's shown remarkable restraint by both not asking about her day, and keeping quiet in general to soothe her ragged nerves.

"Go on, ask."

"Ask what?"

"About the doctor. Getting cleared."

"Oh. Well, I didn't want to pry."

She snorts. "Since when?"

"Since… now."

Her arm brushes his again. "Well ask. Right now."

"How was it?"

"Clean bill of health from the doctor and the shrink cleared me, too. Assuming the paperwork gets filed, I start back next week."

"Congratulations, Beckett," he says. "But next week! I have the signings and the captain still wants me out. I'll call Bob as soon as we sit. Then Paula. I'll spread out the signings. No two a days, Problem solved."

She doesn't try to convince him not to do any of those things. He won't listen, for one, but even if he would, she still won't tell him not to. She doesn't want to tell him not to.

"Well don't get Paula ticked off at you. I can't have her calling the precinct getting the new captain ticked off at me."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He holds up his hands.

She nudges him gently, finding it easier to put Burke's words aside now that he's here and they're doing what they always do.

"Aww, don't tell me your dreams are getting boring now, Castle."

"My dreams?" He looks playfully affronted at the accusation. "Hah. Not even close."

"Oh yeah?" she challenges, lifting her eyes to him. She's still in flats, but she doesn't mind having to look up at him. It throws him off his game in their familiar teasing.

Not too much, since he quite obviously checks her out. She wonders what he sees now when he does that.

"Well I don't want to brag, but I have a very active imagination. Especially in my dreams."

"You do, hmm?" She takes the bait this time, lifting into him a little bit. It's worth it just to see his Adam's apple work as he swallows.

"I do."

"Good," she breathes, stepping back and grinning. It feels like old times. "I do, too."

His breath rushes out. "Well, that's… good. Imagination is good."

She snags his sleeve to pull him out of the way of one industrious bike messenger, smiling a little as he stutter steps to avoid crowding her.

"Imagination is good. Now c'mon, feed me."

He walks a tad closer this time and she doesn't mind. It's nice bumping against him as their bodies rediscover their natural rhythm.

"So did Alexis have other plans?" She's feeling braver about asking this time, but she almost wishes she hadn't asked when a glance over shows his smile faltering.

"Ashley again. It's his last night in town, apparently. There was some housing mix up and he has to straighten it out in person."

She nods. "That's rough. Especially since they thought they'd have more time together." Her fingers brush his sleeve sympathetically. "She'll have to come with us next time."

Castle tilts his head, eyes shining with admiration he's not even trying to conceal.

"Thanks."

"For what?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing, just thanks."

"Well, you're welcome. I'm not sure I deserve that, but you're welcome."

They share a smile. The closeness has her fighting the urge to loop their arms and rest her cheek against him. But doing that would make it feel like this is a date. This isn't a date, because even considering the thought sends tendrils of panic through her.

No, she has her plan. She has her timeline. She'll stick to that and it'll get her where she wants to be.

Castle blows cool air across her face, earning him a quizzical blink. It's how he pulled her out of her panic before. Does he think she needs it now? She's fine, isn't she?

"Car backfired and you went stiff," he explains quietly.

Oh.

"I thought it might help."

Nodding dumbly, she pushes forward. "It did, thank you."

"Good." He exhales. "Don't shoot me for asking, but did you tell the doctors about that?"

"About what? No, no, I'm fine. I'm fine. Just jittery."

She bumps him gently, trying to get him to lose the worried look. "Castle, I'm fine. You know I'm fine. I told you I might be tired and that's what this is, tired and jittery."

The nod she gets is reluctant, but he doesn't press further. "Well this is a perfect place to relax." He points. "We're here."

He leans in, opening the dark lacquered door for her, gesturing her inside with an exaggeratedly chivalrous hand. She purses her lips to hide the affectionate smile and steps in. Hopefully he hasn't led her astray.

The lighting in the restaurant is soft, but not in the overdone, supposedly romantic, but you have to squint to read your menu way. It's like sitting in her living room at home; warm. Even the tables and chairs convey simplicity and comfort instead of stiffness or pretentiousness.

Scents, delicious scents, curl in the air. They fill her lungs with the kind of happiness only a home cooked meal can manage. She turns to Castle, her mouth already watering at the prospects. A knowing grin is all she gets in return.

"Come on, I usually sit over here." He gestures to a corner close enough to the center of the dining room to people watch, but far enough away that there's still privacy. He clearly does come here for peace and quiet, not publicity. As often as she sees it demonstrated, she still sometimes overlooks the fact that he's rarely about flashy parties and stealing police horses to get attention. He might not need solitude as often as she does, but he still appreciates it.

"This place is fantastic, Castle. How'd you find it?"

"I told you, I found it running from a crazed hoard of women who wanted to have their way with me."

She slides onto her seat and it takes everything she has not to groan. This booth is probably more comfortable than her couch.

"Be serious, I want to know." She leans on her hand, facing him as he takes off his jacket and drapes it carefully on the provided hook. "I don't even know what they have here and it smells amazing. How'd you find it?"

He settles closer than probably necessary, but it gives her the perfect opportunity to nudge him with her index finger. "Castle, tell me."

"Okay, okay. Don't poke me, it bruises." He snatches her hand away from his arm, fingers folding warmly around hers. She has to school her face to avoid giving away what the contact does to her. "Do you remember the night we met? When you brought me in to ask about the Tisdale and Fisk murders?"

Of course she does. She also remembers it's not the night they met, not really, but that's a story she hasn't shared yet.

"I remember. Kind of hard to forget, actually, since afterward I found myself with a second shadow." She lifts an eyebrow.

He grins impishly. "Yes, well, I like to be remembered."

"Believe me, Castle, I know you do."

"_Anyway_, you brought up all my prior run-ins with the law, desperado that I am," he pauses for her obligatory eye roll. "And you mentioned the charges being dropped each time. Well one of the conditions for getting them dropped involved unofficial community service. This was where I volunteered the first time."

She smiles, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze.

"The Castle Special from the other night? They taught me."

Her mouth waters at the thought. That damn meal was delicious. "They taught you?"

"Uh huh." He smiles proudly. "And after I finished volunteering, I kept coming back because I like it here."

She nods, dipping her head to avoid that smile of his. "I'm glad you brought me, then. I like it here, too."

He shifts his hold on her hand, pressing their palms together like a kiss.

"I'm glad." The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles this time. It's a smile she doesn't hesitate to return.

Although Castle obviously knows their waitress and she knows him, neither makes a big deal when she brings their waters and offers to tell them what's cooking today in a friendly, faint southern drawl. Castle looks to her once they hear the specials.

"You know better than I do, Castle. I'll take anything. Surprise me."

He grins. "The works, then. Wine?"

She probably shouldn't, but she nods anyway. The meds are done, it'll be okay. "Sure. Whatever's good."

She'll only have a glass. It's been so long since she's had alcohol of any kind, she'll just limit herself. It'll be her celebratory glass; she made it.

She squeezes Castle's hand. Once he's finished ordering, she'll share the thought with him. The answering press of his palm is a tad distracted, but once he finishes navigating the beverage menu, his full attention is back on her.

"Don't worry, you'll like everything. No cow's foot stew."

She narrows her eyes, remembering his early prank. "I know. Good call on the wine."

"Thank you." He preens a little.

"It's good for a celebration," she says, tilting her head. Castle's eyes get even softer somehow, and she feels his thumb sweep over one of her knuckles.

"Celebrating the good news."

It shouldn't surprise her when he does that. When he just knows what she means.

"Back to work," he hums. "Excited?"

She squeezes his hand, leaning in a little closer. "You have no idea."

Her eyes dip to his lips, watching his tongue dart out to wet them. He knows what she's doing, too.

"Oh, believe me, I have some."

* * *

><p><em>Note: You guys are too good to me. Thank you so much, once again, for the wonderful response to this story. You have no idea how much it has meant to me.<em>


	4. First Day Back

**Seeking Clarity**

**Chapter Four - First Day Back**

* * *

><p>Going back to work on Monday is nothing like she expects. In fact, walking into the precinct is almost a little surreal; people downstairs watch her come in like she's some sort of hero, felled by an unspeakable evil. She bows her head in embarrassed deference to their admiration. She's not sure it's something she truly deserves.<p>

Her heart thuds heavily when the elevator doors open onto the fourth floor and every detective and uniform in the vicinity stands and applauds. She sees the boys on the outskirts of the group watching her with curious eyes as they join in the fanfare. She meets Espo's gaze first, then Ryan's, relaxing a little bit when they silently urge her closer.

She tries to keep moving as they ask her questions. Their hurt is obvious, but as always, they accept her explanations. They fall into their usual back and forth easily, only faltering when she asks more about her case.

They're off it. The same way Castle is off it. And they were nowhere before that, which was the excuse the new captain gave to table the investigation. Part of her wonders if it was really a lack of leads, or if it was another roadblock from the man behind all of this, but she won't voice that to anyone.

Annoyance flares again as the new captain treats her simultaneously like a rookie and a rival. The woman – "Iron Gates" – does her best to make her feel both underqualified and overqualified before summarily dismissing her _without_ giving her gun back. Apparently, she has to _requalify_, but it feels more like this is a punishment for breaking the woman's record without even knowing. It's desk duty without the label and they're both aware of it.

When the boys catch a new case, she decides to opt out. Her time will be better spent getting the files from Castle and starting to work her case again. This is something she can do right now instead of being chained to a desk or standing in the background at a scene because she can't get her gun back.

So she ducks out less than an hour and a half after arriving at work, ignoring the captain's appraising look that follows her out of the bullpen. Let her think she's lazy. Let the guys be scared of Gates. She isn't. She's going to investigate because this is the most important case of her life. She can't abandon it because some paper-pusher is either dirty or arrogant. She won't do that. And she'll have help from Castle. He has to help her. She's back at work and strong enough; all of his earlier objections have been taken care of. They can do this. Together, exactly the way he's always suggested they do it.

It isn't until her text to Castle goes unanswered that she remembers he's at a book signing. One of the extra three Paula refused to let him renege on once she'd made his schedule. He still hasn't spoken to the mayor, as far as she knows, at least. They both decided to leave their phones alone at dinner the other night and she assumes he was busy all weekend. Other than a few off the wall texts, she hasn't heard from him. She's even been on her own for dinner, which is strange after almost three weeks of effectively having a personal chef. She did take the time alone to finish _Heat Rises_, though. She's glad she did; she needed the weekend to process it all.

She has so many things she wants to ask him. She always does after finishing one of his books, but this one is different. On top of the apologies for the previous summer, this book is also apologizing for the loss of their friend, and most notably for not being the one to take the bullet – as if she's ever wished he had for a single half second. So she has to know what he's thinking. She has to know if his fictional counterpart's fate is sealed, or if their too-close-to-home fictional alter egos can come back from this.

He never told her when his signing ends, just where it is, but she changes out of the subdued clothes she wore to work as quickly as she can. Even if she's missed most of it, maybe she can at least catch a glimpse and observe him for once. And if he really needs it, she'll protect him from the fangirls.

She's informed as soon as she steps foot in the bookstore that if she's there for Richard Castle, the line closes in thirty minutes. "Books only, please," is tacked on as an afterthought, which surprises her more than a little. Richard Castle refusing to sign chests? Is he sick? Of course, given this place's eclectic reputation – meaning snooty and overpriced – it's probably their rule to boost book sales.

Still, she plucks a copy of his book off the display and takes her place in line. It's not the copy she pre-ordered – that's sitting on her island at home where she left it in her haste, but she already has two copies so a third isn't worth worrying about. She just won't mention it to her partner. Castle's been good about keeping his pride in check every time he comes to her place and sees her Richard Castle collection, but she won't give him the satisfaction of knowing she has three copies of _Heat Rises_.

The line moves remarkably fast, given that this is a Richard Castle signing. She remembers standing for almost two hours in a line shorter than this because Castle insisted on having a "personal" moment with every person in line. He'd wanted the stories, as always. When it was finally her turn, she'd been so tongue tied and surprised at his interest in her, she'd stuttered out a few half-hearted answers and thanked him for everything. He'd smiled, shaking her hand firmly. Then he'd thanked _her_. Genuinely thanked her. He hadn't flirted; he'd been so kind and unpretentious that, upon their second time meeting, she remembers wondering which Richard Castle was the imposter.

She knows better now, of course. She knows the real Richard Castle is the one who's thoughtful and kind to his fans, and not just the ones offering their breasts for his signature. Which is why the speed surprises her. He's not asking for stories? He's not signing chests? He still hasn't answered her text from earlier asking about the files, even though she knows he's had a break since then. Is that what he's upset about? Because she said she needs them?

Whatever it is, he definitely isn't himself. Even from the back of the room she can tell. His shoulders are hunched as he signs. He barely makes eye contact, and it seems like his words are few and far between. He's hiding behind that smile she knows is fake. It manages to fool the others in line, but not her. She knows him too well.

He doesn't even look up when she approaches, not until she gives him her name. The same name she told him all those years ago. His eyes flash with recognition, love, and definitely frustration, too. So this mood is connected to her.

"Look, Castle, I know what you're thinking –" She doesn't, not completely, but it seems like a good enough place to start.

He cuts her off by simply looking away to write in her book. Everyone else's he's signed the cover, but not hers. A part of her wants to strain to read it, but she doesn't. She gives him the time with his thoughts.

"The new captain hates me," she blurts. "Or something like that."

His lips twitch a little. "Sorry to hear that," he murmurs, closing her book with a quiet thump. "Thanks for coming out, Kate."

She takes the book back. There's nothing else she can do with another twenty people behind her. Already, the woman who'd been chattering on and on about how handsome Castle is the entire time they waited is crowding into her space, ready to elbow her out of the way.

"Thanks, Castle." She taps his fingers quickly. "Glad to see you're bruise-free today, because I'm still not packing."

Somehow, this is what gets through his mood, bringing a full smile onto his face.

"_Packing_ _Heat_'s probably a little too on the nose, isn't it?"

"I think it's good," a voice chimes in behind her, helpfully reminding her it's no longer her turn.

She has to fight the urge to roll her eyes as the woman edges around her and practically shoves a book she'll probably never read in Castle's face.

Castle greets her with renewed enthusiasm, which only makes the woman's smile grow.

That's her cue to go, even though the urge to steal a seat and remain at her partner's side is strong. She doesn't do that, though, instead she nods to Castle and makes her way to the checkout to pay for her new book. She'll wait him out from a safer distance. It'll look better this way.

Or she'll look like a stalker. Whatever. He's stalked her for years, it's her turn.

It turns out that boosting him out of his bad mood isn't the good idea it seemed to be at the time. She spends the next forty-five minutes waiting for him to finish. No chests are signed, but now she knows he's asking for stories. She watches him smile and lean across the table until the bookstore is about to close and she's kicked out along with a couple of other waiting fans – all of whom apparently made t-shirts for the event. T-shirts?

She doesn't take too long to contemplate how much making those cost them, because Castle finally emerges from the bookstore. She straightens as he shakes hands and thanks his remaining groupies for coming. She tucks her book against the leather of her jacket and steps forward to join him.

"Hey," she starts as he walks away. "About earlier –"

He shakes his head. "Not now, Beckett."

"Castle –"

He spins, stopping her in her tracks again. Looking him in the eye, she gets it. She gets why he's upset. Her request has stoked the embers of frustration and guilt she knows he feels over this case, over her shooting. "You died in that ambulance. Did you know that? Do you have any idea what that's like? Watching the life drain out of someone you l-"

She freezes, wondering if he's going to come out and say it again. The words she simultaneously wants and needs, but can't bring herself to allow just yet. Maybe it will be easier if he just says it. If he puts it all out in the open.

He catches himself, though, swallowing hard to keep the words inside before he continues, "Someone you care about."

"Castle, I –"

"I can't do this. Not here."

She squares her shoulders, nodding quickly. "Fine."

She isn't sure _where_ he expects to do it – they're not particularly close to either of their places – or if this is his way of dismissing her. Using her own style of avoidance against her.

The park across the street beckons. Maybe _there_ will be better for him. If he follows. If not, she'll sit on a bench and take a moment to breathe before going home and working with what she does know. It'll give him time to cool off, either option will. She leaves him scowling at her.

Instead of a bench, though, she perches on a swing. Her body weight is enough to rock her gently. The motion soothes her; it helps her get her mind off his aborted announcement and his anger over her request.

He sighs when he joins her, sinking into the open swing beside her and mimicking her easy rhythm.

She takes a deep breath. "I finished the book this weekend. I liked the dedication."

He nods, and she's sure it isn't the best thing to say given how many hours he's spent hearing all the praise in the world.

"Seemed right."

She touches the book cover gently. An ex of his once told her he only dedicates his books to people he cares about; to see Roy's name on that page breaks her heart just a little more. She still sometimes forgets she's not the only one who lost Roy.

"Must've been hard writing that ending," she hedges, unsure of where she's going but unable to stop.

"Kate, did you read what I wrote?"

She bites her lip, shaking her head quickly.

"Okay. Don't read it now."

The hand that was about to open the book stills, doing what he asks of her.

"So she's not your biggest fan, huh?"

She shakes her head again. "No, apparently not. I broke one of her records or something and that automatically makes me a problem."

"Welcome to the misfits, Beckett."

She snorts. "Thanks, Castle."

They rock in silence for another minute. The quiet gives her plenty of time to silently berate herself. She's getting her chance to speak her piece and she's blowing it. She has to say something, even if it's the wrong thing.

"I want to solve this case, Castle. I need to solve it. For her and for me. And I'd like your help to do that."

He clenches his fingers together, but doesn't argue with her. She forges ahead. "I… tried to tell you that day on the roof, but I just… I put up a wall when she died. I didn't want to hurt like that again. Hence… Josh and the others. And I know I'm not gonna be able to be the kind of person I want to be, have the kind of relationship I want," she pauses, looking him in the eye, unflinching in her determination to give him this assurance, even if she can't unstick the words "with you" from her throat. "Until I put this to rest. And _that's_ why I asked for your files."

She has his attention now. "Help me put this to rest, Castle?"

He nods finally. "Okay."

She exhales, hand snaking between the swings to cover his. "The boys told me what you did, following the money trail."

"I just wished it'd led somewhere."

"It will. We'll look again. You did good, Castle." She nods encouragingly, squeezing his hand. "You did good."

He thanks her softly, squeezing back. If he's surprised at the contact, he doesn't show it.

"And one more thing?"

"Yeah?"

"You're gonna need to make a call today. You should be there tomorrow."

His fingers tighten around hers and she tries to pretend the smile he sends her way doesn't make her want to close the distance between them and kiss him until they're both breathless and trembling. It does, it absolutely does.

"He was out of town before. He should be back now."

She jostles their hands. "Call now then." It surprises her how fervently she wants him there with her tomorrow. "Make whatever arrangements you need. Then let's get dinner, okay?"

She punctuates it with a question, just in case his mother or his daughter expects him home. He simply squeezes her hand and nods. His other hand is already digging into his pocket for his phone and she takes just a moment, a split second, to appreciate the curve of his ass and the line of his thigh in those jeans. He catches her anyway and his mock scandalized – yet absurdly proud – look warms her.

She might not be able to tell him yet, to admit that she's been holding onto his words and she reciprocates them, but she can give him this. The knowledge that she appreciates his body the way he's always not-so-subtly appreciated hers.

His hand stays in hers the entire time he's on the phone with the mayor. She feels every chuckle, every twitch of his fingers as he listens to Weldon's trip recap. When he makes his request he's perfectly nice, his usual ridiculously charming self, but she sees the shift in him when he says he wants back in. There's no joking now. The mayor must agree without argument, because his seriousness is gone just as quickly as it comes and he's back to chuckling over something his friend says.

"Well?" she asks almost as soon as he hangs up. "What'd he say?"

"He'll make a call."

She nods. "Good. Dinner? After we eat, I need to go to the range so I can get my gun back tomorrow."

"Planning to shoot me already, Beckett? I'm hurt, I'm very hurt."

She laughs softly, tugging him up. "Big baby. Come on, I'll treat."

"Ahh, it's always a treat with you, Beckett."

* * *

><p>Somehow, three days later, she finds herself in the one place she never expected to be. Back at Burke's office.<p>

She never expected going back to work to be so hard. She never expected to have Castle's words hit her so hard. He's said a lot in the last couple days; words that call her on not being okay regardless of how hard she insists she is or how badly she wants to be. Words that promise her they will find the people responsible for everything, words he wrote in her book that promise her things will be just fine in the end,

_"Kate, I know you hate spoilers, but he's going to be fine."_

Even words that vow together they'll knock down the wall she's built with her own two hands. The wall he's been carefully tossing rocks at for years.

It's not just his words, either. It's the thought of him standing on the other side of said wall, clawing away with a makeshift tool in his hand – a spork, she decided late last night – that helped send her back here.

No, she isn't doing this for him. She isn't doing this for them, whatever they are or can be. Those things help, of course, but she's doing this for her. For the chance to stop hurting herself and others in the process. She's doing this to feel whole, to feel like she did long ago. That's why she's here, to regain herself.

"What do you remember, Kate?"

She exhales. She's just told the first of many about her lie. Dr. Burke's face holds no judgment. She wonders if he's known all along.

"I remember everything." She clears her throat. "The shot, the screaming, the – the pain in my chest." She swallows hard, willing away the images of that day. "Castle tackled me, but I'd already been hit. He kept talking to me, saying my name. He, he asked me to stay with him," she trails off, glancing down at her chest to find her hand brushing the spot on her chest.

She clenches her hand in her shirt. "He told me he loves me. He kept saying it until I passed out. I thought I might've imagined it, but when I woke up in the hospital and saw him… I knew I hadn't."

"And you told him you didn't remember?"

"I told everyone I didn't. Not just Castle."

"Why is that?"

"Because I'd just been shot? Because everything hurt? And I was still… in a relationship with someone else? Because I –"

"Do you not reciprocate his feelings?"

"What?" She looks at him blankly. "No, it's about that. It's not about … reciprocating or not. Reciprocation isn't what it's about."

"What is it about, Kate? You'd just been shot and you were in pain, no one's disputing that. Tell me about your other reasons, though. "

"My mother was killed," she murmurs shakily. "And everything I've done in my adult life has been because of that. She's why I became a cop, she's why Castle and I became partners. But something inside me changed when she was killed; I… don't know how to stop coping."

"Tell me how you've coped, Kate."

And so she speaks. She tells him more than she's told anyone, even Castle. Part of her hates it, hates spilling her secrets like this. She hates bringing up the nights she'd check on her father and find him less than sober, despite every effort on her part. She hates bringing up Will and his general indifference to the career she'd worked _hard_ to build, the career she nearly lost before she put her mom's case away the first time. She's exhausted before she gets to ending things with Josh from her hospital bed – months after she should've, thanks to her own stubborn desire to turn liking a lot into love – but she keeps on.

Finally, she catches up to weeks ago and more recently, the other day. To asking Castle to hang in there for her. She's pretty sure her hour has been up for a while, but Burke hasn't made any move to shoo her out and he doesn't now, even as her voice fades, succumbing to the rawness of overuse. She wipes her eyes quickly.

"And what did your partner say when you told him this?"

"He said okay. He's… I think he's taking what he can get right now. Which isn't fair to him, I know."

"He loves you, Kate. Enough to make every attempt at saving your life. He wants you to be healthy and happy, don't you think?"

She nods. He's right. Of course he's right. She's not stringing Castle along, doing the same thing with this relationship that she's always done. She's healing first, then diving into it with him. She _wants_ to dive into it with him.

"You need to go at your own speed."

She nods again, seeing the wisdom in that.

"But I do want to caution you against keeping the truth from him."

Her mouth opens, protests forming before she can stop them. A gentle shake of his head somehow has her standing down.

"I'm not suggesting you begin anything you aren't ready to start, Kate, but I think confiding in him that you remember will go a long way toward keeping both your partnership and the relationship you're working toward healthy. Would you want him keeping something like this from you?"

"No," she admits. "No, I'd want to at least know." If the roles were reversed, she knows she'd want to know. Even if there was nothing to be done, no forward progress as a couple to be made yet (and not for lack of interest), she wouldn't want to be in the dark.

Castle hates being in the dark just as much as she does.

"You don't have to reciprocate his words, Kate. Not if you're not ready. But my recommendation is to tell your partner and your close friends you remember the shooting soon and get that out in the open. That's your homework until we speak the next time."

She exhales, swiping her hand over her face. She just wants to go home and sleep for a day or two. "Okay. That's my homework. Talk to Castle and the others."

It can't be that hard, right? It isn't an assignment to take her murder board down or put her mother's murder away for good. It's talking to Castle. It's talking to Lanie, and Ryan, and Espo.

The sun is almost gone by the time she leaves the building, joining her grumbling stomach as a reminder of what time it really is. As tired as she is, she knows she needs to eat before she goes home otherwise she might not do it. Leftovers aren't an option and she won't call Castle and expect him to prepare another meal for her.

She could call for a pizza and meet the delivery guy at her door, but she doesn't. Burke's questions about her friends and why she hasn't reached out to them keep clattering around in her skull. The guys are taking it in stride, sending her their support from a distance since that's what she needs. They deserve better, she knows, but so does Lanie.

She hasn't seen Lanie at all. By the time she joined the Gilbert case, they'd already finished with the ME's part of the investigation, and coward that she is, she hasn't made time to walk into her friend's office and sit. She hasn't seen Lanie since the hospital, and hasn't spoken to her since the day her father answered her phone and handed it to her without her permission. She wasn't very receptive to conversation that day.

Apologizing for that would be a good start. If nothing else.

Decision made, she calls Lanie before there's any chance to talk herself out of it. She won't give herself the opportunity to put her phone away and slink down to the subway to go home without a word to anyone.

"Parish." It's clipped, more so than Lanie usually is, but it could just be the end of a long shift catching up with her. She sounds like she didn't even look at the ID before answering.

"Hey Lanie, it's uh, it's Kate. Are you busy right now?"

"What can I do for you, Detective Beckett?"

Oh, this is her punishment. Crisp professionalism instead of their practiced, easy friendship. She deserves it, she supposes.

"Perlmutter's on duty if you've been called out. I'm not back on shift until tomorrow night, unless there's an emergency. Is there an emergency?" Lanie continues, seemingly oblivious to her silence. She's not, of course; it's all an act, but it serves to make her point.

"No, no. No case. I just… wanted to see if you wanted to get some dinner… with me. Obviously if you're busy or you're with Javi, don't worry about it. I just thought I'd see."

Silence greets her for a split second, but it's soon followed by murmuring. Esposito must be there, because the answering rumble she hears is far deeper than Lanie can manage. Lanie comes back a moment later. "Do you want to come over here? I'll order in."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Kate Beckett, I'm sure. So get your ass over here. I haven't seen you in months."

"I know, Lanie. I'm sorr –"

"Don't be sorry, be on the subway."

If Esposito's bothered by being kicked out for the night, he doesn't show it when they pass each other in the hallway. He must know she's in for it because he pats her on the shoulder and murmurs, "Good luck," before heading down the stairs.

"Thanks," she calls after him, somewhat timidly.

Lanie's at her door before she even has the opportunity to knock. Apparently, they were both waiting for her to arrive, which makes her wonder if they expected her to change her mind. Where she's tentative, her friend is the opposite, wrapping her up in a tight hug before she even says hello.

"Hey, Lanie," she murmurs, returning the hug gratefully. Maybe this won't turn out to be such a bad idea, after all. "How're you?"

"Pissed at you," her friend says, arms tightening for a moment before releasing her.

She laughs tightly. Yeah, she deserves that. After the last few months, she's lucky anyone's talking to her.

"You look good, though." Lanie looks her up and down with a keen eye. "Tired and like a stiff breeze might knock you over, but good."

She snorts. "You always say the most flattering things to me, Lanie. I am tired, though. Getting back into it tired me out."

"Well come in and sit. The food should be here in a few minutes."

Not much has changed in Lanie's place in the months since she was last over, but she still hesitates to make herself comfortable the way she used to. Lanie, of course, rolls her eyes when she sees how stiff she is and points to her shoes.

"Off. You're worrying far too much about this, Kate."

Her friend settles across from her, reaching over and tugging her into a more comfortable position. She laughs softly.

"Lanie!"

"You'd rather be awkward?"

"Well, no, but –"

"But nothing, Kate. So you went back to work this week. What else has been going on?"

"Nothing, really." She shrugs. "I was… at the cabin when you called. And then I got home and it was a huge adjustment."

Lanie nods, offering her a glass. "Wine?"

"Sure." Turning it down would only insult her friend. As it is, it's going to be hard enough when she tells her Castle's been there when she wouldn't let anyone else near.

"I'm surprised you're not with Castle."

She pauses mid-sip, taking just a second before she shakes her head. "No, no. We've… he needed to spend time with Alexis and I wanted to see you."

"Has he been helping?" Lanie tilts her head. "You needed somebody, Kate. Has he been it?"

"Yeah. Yeah he has," she murmurs.

Her friend nods, accepting it without comment. If she's hurt, she's playing it close to the vest. Not like Lanie at all.

"I didn't call him until I got back to the city, you know. I don't want you to think I blew you off because of him. I blew everyone off."

"Believe me, I remember."

"I'm sorry."

Lanie softens, reaching out to touch her arm. "Kate, we just wanted you to be okay. If you're okay, then we're okay."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm. Now don't think this gets you out of telling me what's going on with Castle's helping hands."

She groans, "_Lanie_. There's nothing happening with Castle. Helping hands or otherwise. He shows up at my apartment and he makes dinner."

"Well why the hell not? You know what I'd do to have a sexy man come over and cook for me?"

She smirks quickly. "You mean Javi's not a culinary expert? I bet you could give him a frilly apron and he'd cook for you."

"Who says I haven't already?" Lanie wiggles her eyebrows. "Not much cooking would get done because you _know_ he'd try wearing that apron and nothing else. And that ass of his, mhmm."

"Okay, okay, okay, I get it. Enough about his ass. I have to see it – clothed – every day at work and that's more than enough for me."

"Fine, we'll talk about _Castle's_ ass in a frilly apron instead."

_"No,_ no we will not." Not that it's altogether a bad thing to contemplate.

Still, they giggle a little bit deviously. Oh, she's missed her friend. Lanie makes laughing easy. Castle does, too, but it's different with the other woman. With Castle she has to be careful, especially now. She can't say too much. With Lanie, she knows she won't say anything she shouldn't.

In the end, she doesn't tell Lanie how much she remembers and Lanie doesn't ask. They're both content enough to laugh and talk about nothing in particular. Nothing too heavy for their first night back. She's grateful. Not just to get the gossip she's missed out on, although that will certainly help her navigate things at work. She's grateful to get out of her head for an evening.

She'll tell everyone when she can, but for now it's one step closer to normal.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you once more to everyone for reading! Barring anything major, posting will start picking up this week in celebration of it being the last week of hiatus!_


	5. Full Disclosure

**Seeking Clarity**

**Chapter Five - Full Disclosure**

* * *

><p>She doesn't tell Castle she remembers. Not the first week. Not the second. Not the third. Before she knows it, over a month has passed. They've settled back into their rhythm and, much to Dr. Burke's quiet disapproval, she can't bring herself to disrupt that. Not even when her heart starts to hammer in her chest at the thought of Serena Kaye or another just like her turning Castle's head while she's frozen in place.<p>

It isn't fair to expect him to wait for her like this, she knows that. Still he waits. He's patient and thoughtful, but judging by their subtext-riddled arguments over Serena, this is slowly driving him crazy, too. Ultimately, he says nothing but his feelings are written all over his face when he thinks she can't see. Or maybe he wants her to see. She thinks that's closer to the truth. He wants her to see that he won't be swayed so easily, and he wants her to see how much it means to him that she has dinners with his mother and his daughter after traumatic things happen. God knows she needed that night, too, after nearly losing him in the bank.

Sometimes she feels like she needs a dozen more nights like that, even if it goes against the instinct to hold herself apart from him. Other times it's necessary for her to actually get away from him and get a handle on her emotions on her own. She's sure that confuses him more than anything else, when she runs hot and cold, but he accepts it. He gives her the space when she needs it.

Even when she's coming apart at the seams, seeing flashes from sniper scopes at every turn, she knows he battles his baser instincts and gives her space. Even though they both know there's no time for her to retreat to the top of a tall building and ground herself. She has a job to do, this sniper to catch, and she has to do it PTSD or no PTSD. She can't fall apart and let her partner put her back together this time.

He sends Espo to help, she knows. She appreciates it, the way both of them know the best way to help her without doing the one thing she hates: making her feel helpless. They give her the tools, but she does the work, and she thanks them both – and Ryan for being his usual steady self – before she leaves the precinct.

Having their support is amazing, but she needs to get better on her own. She'll do the work to be better, to be stronger. She won't let anyone else down.

Burke suggests she needs to stop thinking about it in terms of letting her mother, or anyone else, down. She's not letting her down by having to put the case away, or with the desire to be better than she has been for almost thirteen years. She's not letting her mother down by not being unmovable all the time.

Her session with Burke is long and utterly gutting, but when she emerges hours later, she feels strangely energized. She has PTSD and she's not always okay, but she'll get there. She's not fixed, but she's trying.

She's trying and it's time to show Castle her cards, all of them. It's time to show him how much she appreciates what he's given her, not just these last few days, but this whole time. She doesn't call immediately, though. Instead, she finds herself standing at a counter a block away from Burke's office, ordering two cups of coffee. It's her offering to him. One of the one hundred coffees she 'owes' him. Maybe it'll soften the blow of her lie. She hopes it will.

The coffee shop has a plush seating area in the back, thankfully away from windows, and she sinks into one of the couches gratefully. It's quiet back here; no blaring jazz or adult alternative coming from the speakers. It could be the late-evening atmosphere instead of midday madness but she likes it, whatever it is. Hopefully Castle will too.

His voice is soft when he answers the phone, and she wonders if she caught him at a bad time.

"Hey. Do you, uh, are you busy?"

"What? No, no. I'm good, Beckett. How – are you okay?"

She smiles softly. "I'm fine, Castle. No leaping tall buildings right now. I'm not even standing on one."

"That's good, though the view when you're standing on one is pretty good."

She smiles, remembering how he'd stood with her long after the sun dipped away from the horizon. "I think so too. But not this time. This time, I'm just seeing if my partner would like to join me for a coffee."

"I accept," he answers almost automatically. "Where are you? The usual place?"

"Ah, no. No." She sips her coffee quickly before telling him.

She knows he recognizes the street immediately, but only asks where she's sitting. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Take your time. If your coffee gets cold, I'll get you another."

True to his word, he's there quickly, surprisingly quickly. When he approaches, she can tell he's taking his cues from her. She doesn't blame him for being cautious after the last few days. He's supportive, but he's not a glutton for punishment.

Their fingers brush when she hands over his coffee.

"Tell me if it's too cold."

He sinks beside her and she watches his throat work with each appreciative sip.

"No, no it's great. Thanks, Kate."

There's no reason to thank her, not for this, but she smiles instead of arguing.

"So what made you decide to check out this place's coffee offerings?" He's careful in the way he asks, curious but not prying.

"I was in the neighborhood." She sips her own coffee. "I've been seeing Dr. Burke since I went back to work." It's the first revelation she has for him, arguably the easiest.

He nods thoughtfully, sliding his hand along the worn leather couch until his knuckles brush her legging-covered knee. She shifts closer, nodding her consent for him to stay put. She swallows, taking another moment to gather her thoughts before she continues,

"The other day… the other night really, things got bad. Worse than the time in my kitchen." They both remember that night; the way she cowered into his chest, fighting for breath. "I broke a glass… I was waving my gun around. It was bad." She clears her throat. "Burke says I have PTSD."

Castle's fingers close around hers and she watches him move her sleeve to expose the bandage she's spent the majority of her time over the last couple days trying to conceal.

"That's what happened here?"

"Yeah it is. I fell and cut myself. I cleaned it out when I could. It didn't need stitches."

"Good." He nods.

She squeezes his hand. "Burke's going to help me with it. There are things you can do, breathing techniques. Kind of similar to what you did before… when you put the air on my face…"

"Can I confess something?"

She looks up. "Sure?"

"I learned that when Alexis was a baby."

Laughter bubbles before she can stop it. "Really?"

"Yeah. She would cry and cry, and it was the only thing that calmed her down before she got sick on me. The cool air seemed to help her."

She turns her face into his shoulder, laughing again softly. "Whatever works, I guess? Be glad I didn't puke on you before you remembered the trick. I got sick on my dad a few times at his cabin."

"That's okay, it happens. We fathers don't hold it against you."

She smiles. Exhaling brings her closer to him, but she doesn't move. His warmth soothes her, wearing down her still-ragged pieces. She can only hope he won't hold anything else against her.

"Castle?"

"Yeah?"

She shuts her eyes. It's now or never.

"I remember," she breathes. "I remember everything. I lied, and I'm sorry. I just... I couldn't deal with everything before. I'm sorry."

Whatever she expected his reaction to be the silence that greets her isn't it. He hasn't pulled away, but he isn't moving either. Chancing a glance at him, she isn't surprised to see the hurt in his eyes or the hard set of his jaw.

She's let it out, her secret, and now she has to make sure he understands her.

"Castle, it's not because of what you're probably thinking." Really, she has no idea what he's thinking, but it's a start.

She twists, tugging his hand closer in case he's thinking about bolting, the way she would be. "It was just too big, okay? I couldn't face something that big, that important, on top of everything else."

Finally, he swallows and his jaw releases a bit.

"Okay." He licks his lips. "I can understand that. Was it, is it… because… you don't –"

"No," she cuts him off quickly. "It's not because of that. Not even close."

Happiness floods his face at the confirmation, drawing her own grin. Her hand loosens around his minutely. It's not reciprocation by traditional standards, but it makes him happy nonetheless.

"Just bear with me, please?" she whispers. "It's still big for me."

Agreement comes almost instantly, easing the tension in her chest a little more.

"Thanks." Her arms wind around him impulsively, giving him the hug she's been denying them both for weeks. "Thank you. I'm sorry I lied."

Castle practically sags against her. "Kate," he murmurs. "Kate, Kate, Kate." Evidently he's needed this hug too. "You told me now. That's what's important. That's what's important," he whispers almost desperately into her hair.

Unsure of what else she can do, she squeezes him tightly. She turns her face into his neck, breathing deeply. This is good, she knows. This is a good thing. This is progress for her, for them both.

"Kate," he clears his throat, suddenly sounding just as strained as she'd felt just a few minutes before. "I have to tell you something, too. And you have to promise to listen, you can't just react."

Her heart seizes. What the hell? That doesn't fill her with confidence in any way.

"Right after you went back to work, right after we talked to Ron Halstead, I got a call."

"From who? About what? About my mother's case?" She pulls away, feeling her breath pick up already. Has he been sitting on something for months?

He clears his throat again, averting his eyes each time she tries to make him look at her.

He licks his lips quickly before lowering his voice. "He said he's a friend of Montgomery's. He said Roy's deal became his deal."

"With the man behind this, Castle? Who is he?" she hisses, putting enough distance between them to see him. "What'd you do?"

"I don't know, Kate, I –"

"Castle, answer the question. Who is this man, the one who called you?"

"A voice on the phone, that's all I know."

"His name," she snaps.

"Smith is what he told me. It could be fake, it's probably fake."

Wearing a track in the carpet in front of him suddenly seems like a good idea. How the hell could he do this? He _knows_ what this means to her.

"Was this why you told me to back off? Because you're _working_ with them?"

She's trying to keep her voice down, she really is. Suddenly the lack of loud music in the coffee shop is a burden, and she casts a glance behind her to see how much attention they're attracting. When she turns back to her partner, his eyes are hard.

"Why'd I ask you to stop _for now_? Because your neighbor's door closing puts you on the floor. Because you could barely hold your gun two days after you got back to work, and you nearly ended up suspended because you went at Halstead like a pit bull. Because you needed help, and you had to practically freeze in front of a suspect before you decided to take it."

She watches his shoulders hitch at his next thought, his next words. "Because Smith swore they were gonna kill you if I didn't. And I love you, Kate, so forgive me if getting you killed or helping you get killed isn't on my list of priorities. Not after I already got you shot. Not after I was the one to bring all of this down on you."

She squeezes her eyes shut. He said it again. He loves her. And yet he thinks this is the way to show it? By lying to her about something this important?

Warmth against her arm tells her he's stepped closer. He touches her elbow gently, attempting to turn her to face him.

"I love you, Kate. And after everything we've been through, I hope you know all I want is to keep you safe. And you are, as long as you don't investigate."

Broken. He sounds broken. Worn. Ragged. Nothing like the man who assured her months ago that they'd get it done when the time was right. Of course, he'd already known about this man then, so she's not sure how much of that was anything but empty platitudes and an attempt at pacifying her.

"You want to keep me safe by _lying_ to me?" Her voice cracks painfully.

He scrubs his hand over his face, the practiced move she knows means he's doing his best to temper his response and stave off a bigger fight. He's doing better at it than she is right now.

"If I'd told you, would you have backed off? Or would you have run straight at this like you're about to?"

She bristles. "I needed to know, Castle. I deserved to know, not to have you deciding for me like I'm a child!" she hisses again, poking a finger into her chest for emphasis.

"Then act like it, Beckett," he snaps, his composure failing him. "Act like you know you're worth more than a closed case and a funeral with full honors."

He straightens, his shoulders squaring, and it's all she can do not to actually step back. She's not afraid of him in the least, but she doesn't recognize this version of her partner. The red fades from her vision as she takes him in. He's preparing a final attempt to convince her before he gives up. She can tell.

"Isn't that what you want, too, Kate? Isn't that the point of bringing down the wall? Of putting the case to rest and figuring out who you are without it? Isn't that what you told me on the swings? On that rooftop?"

She swallows hard as Burke's voice asks her if she's ready to accept moving on. She had been just a few hours ago, hadn't she? She had accepted not solving this case any time soon and _wanted_ to move on. For the very reasons Castle is listing.

"How do you know this Smith's not the one behind all of this, Castle?" It comes out as a croak, a last ditch effort to hold onto her fury.

"Because if he were, don't you think letting you die, letting you work on it and quietly taking you out would be his first choice?"

His fingers brush against her cheek and it takes a moment to register that he's wiping away tears. Her tears.

"You're probably the biggest pain in the ass this guy – the dragon – whoever he is, has ever dealt with, Kate." It's probably supposed to sound harsh, but he can't stop the affection from clouding his words. He's proud of her for being a bane to this man's existence.

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience, Castle." It slips out huskily, without her consent. She wants to stay angry.

"Driving me insane is something you do well, Beckett, yeah." His thumb slides over her cheekbone again. "You're by far the most remarkable and frustrating person I've ever met, and I love you, Kate. So if keeping you safe involves trusting in some mysterious friend of Montgomery's and asking, pleading, or lying to convince you to stand down, then that's what I'll do."

He's so passionate, so sincere, it practically melts the last of the anger from her.

She slumps, forehead coming to rest against his chest. He holds her up. Of course he holds her up.

"I don't know how to do this, Castle. I thought I could let it go, but then you told me this and…"

And everything in her wants to run toward it, just like he said. She's only been given the barest hint of something new to learn and she's ready to jump back into the fray.

"We'll do it together, Kate. All of it."

Lips brush her ear, sending a shudder through her. "All of it. The case when it's safe, taking down the wall, making sure you _know_ you're worth more than all of those things. Because I know it, but you need to know it, too."

Nodding in agreement, she grips his shirt. The soft, worn plaid molds under her fingers. It's warm from his body; his scent permeating every inch of the fabric and she pushes her nose deeper against his shirt.

"We'll do it together," he promises again. "Smith or no Smith."

Words stick in her throat, making it impossible to do anything but nod.

"However you want," he continues, "as long as we do it safely."

She exhales. "Safely."

"Safely," he echoes. A gentle touch on her back brings her closer to him. It's pure reflex that has her burrowing against him. He doesn't complain, doesn't make fun of her, he doesn't even make a sound.

"Okay," she agrees.

He echoes that, too, before he falls silent again. She doesn't blame him; what else is there for him to say?

But there is more she can say. His assertion that he got her shot, that he brought this down on her, on them, is just wrong. And she's going to make sure he knows that.

"It's not, you know."

"Mmm?" His hand slides soothingly over her back, but she feels his fingers tremble slightly when they pause. Fighting wears him out as much as it exhausts her.

"None of this is your fault, Castle. None of it."

"I opened –"

"And I would've opened it again eventually. I forgave you for it."

"I didn't get to you in time," he whispers.

"I wouldn't _ever_ want you to take a bullet for me, Castle." Her hand tightens in his shirt. "Don't feel guilty over the things you can't control." It's a phrase Burke used during their session, in fact. "You didn't do any of this. Okay?"

"I just wanted to fix it, Beckett. Without you getting hurt again."

"I know, I know," she soothes, thumbing his shirt.

She does know. It terrifies him. It's terrified him this whole time. It's why he lashed out when she went back to work and asked for the files, it's why he took this deal with this mystery man. It's guilt, and love, and terror all bundled up and hidden behind bright blue eyes and calming words. While he's been shouldering her burdens with her, this whole time he's carried this burden himself.

She pulls him impossibly closer, inhaling deeply. She can do better for him. She can take on some of his burdens, too.

Eventually her hands loosen their clutch on his shirt and she forces herself to step away. Lifting her head shouldn't terrify her as much as it does, but she manages to make eye contact anyway.

Castle smiles softly, carefully. "You want to sit?"

"Sit?"

The moment it hits her that they're still standing in a coffee shop is the moment she knows she's lost her mind. Somehow, they've just had one of the most important discussions about their relationship to date in the middle of a public – very public – space. They practically eviscerated each other for four people in their mid-twenties to see.

And yet, all she can do is laugh.

To his credit, Castle doesn't look at her like she's grown both a second and third head in quick succession. He does, however, seem baffled by her outburst; by whatever has caused the laughter-induced tears to stream down her cheeks and force her to take harsh, gulping breaths between guffaws.

"Kate?"

His hand presses warmly against her side, making a valiant attempt at holding her up when she starts to double over.

"I'm… I'm okay. It's just..." She coughs to get herself under control. "Why can't we be normal people, Castle?"

This makes him laugh, too. "Normal's boring," he's trying for flippant. It works, mostly.

They land on the couch behind him with two soft thuds.

"We can't be normal, Beckett. That's boring."

"Sure, Castle," she breathes, wiping her face. "Normal's boring. You're right."

The coffee he hands her has long since gone cold, but she sips anyway. She manages not to make a face at how bitter it is, but her partner isn't so sneaky.

"No. We're not drinking this, Beckett. Put that down. I'm getting us fresh coffee."

He plucks the container out of her hand with sure fingers, standing before she can protest that she's fine.

"Fresh coffee, Kate. No arguing." His eyebrows lift, telling her something more than that he's grossed out by cold coffee.

Then it makes sense; fresh coffee equals a fresh start.

She holds his gaze, nodding resolutely. "No arguments here. Fresh coffee."

If she has any doubts that they've made a scene, they're erased when the barista and the cashier scurry frantically at Castle's approach. She's grateful when Castle acts like his usual charming self and has the entire crew laughing just a few seconds later. Her cheeks heat up when he slides an absurd number of bills into the tip jar after he pays for their order. Great, now he's paying hush money for her.

She looks up when he returns, smiling gratefully as he slides an actual mug into her hand. No paper travel cups this time. Truthfully, the cold coffee was pretty gross; she's glad to have it replaced.

"Thanks, Castle."

This time when he sits, he squirms into the space her knees have left for him after she made herself comfortable. It's new, intimate, and yet more than a little familiar to have him this close. His forearm rests against her legs.

She sips her coffee as silence settles over them.

"So…"

"Do you remember what I said about the book?" He interrupts quickly, looking almost apologetic for it.

"When?"

"When you told me you hadn't read it yet."

"The book will still be there," she murmurs, remembering how it wasn't about the book at all.

"Right. And I know you have finished it already, but it's not going anywhere, still," he says it pointedly.

After all that, falling back on subtext is easier. She understands him, though. They don't have to make awkward small talk or try to force things because everything's out in the open now.

"Well good. I might want to reread it and I don't want to rush." She sips again, savoring the gentle sweetness of the vanilla on her tongue.

Her partner does the same before resting his ceramic-warmed palm on the curve of her knee.

"You can't rush the good stuff. That deserves careful cultivation, attention even, to ensure its greatness is protected."

She wants that. She wants to protect this thing, cultivate the greatness.

"I want to protect it."

"Me too," he agrees softly, squeezing her knee. "I do, too, Kate."

* * *

><p>Life goes on.<p>

It surprises her at first, how little everything changes once their secrets are out in the open. It's comforting, though, knowing they're still them. He still pitches his out there theories and she still rolls her eyes. They still have dinner at her place the most, but she comes to his place for meals more frequently, too.

He still shows up brimming with excitement, eager to share whatever's on his mind and she still lets him in. Not only that, she welcomes him. In person, via text, it doesn't matter. They talk, almost constantly. Even if it's about nothing, they talk.

By mutual agreement, they don't talk about the case. The mystery man is left to be exactly that, a mystery. It bothers her, but she knows it's best that they leave it for another time. For a time when she's sure she can do this without slipping, and once she's sure he won't take unnecessary risks to assuage his own misplaced guilt.

In the meantime, she does her best to show him she doesn't hold him responsible.

There are still bad days for her, days when she retreats to her apartment and into a bath, waiting until her tension has ebbed to retrieve her phone and laugh at whatever silly text he's sent her. He doesn't seem to mind, as long as he hears from her.

It's tentative, but it's good.

So she isn't sure why she didn't suggest this sooner, going to Ryan's wedding together. They'd looked at each other when Ryan reminded them to give him their RSVP cards, but neither had broken the stalemate and just said they would come together. Instead she'd said she'd come alone and he decided to bring Alexis – and relished a little in teasing her with the idea of his 'date' later on. They both know he'd wanted to get a rise out of her and he had.

And yet, here they are, arms looped together as a united front to face Kevin and Jenny's boisterous and large (humongous) families. The ceremony itself had been smaller, reasonably sized, but the reception is absurd. Her team is famous among the relatives – all of them – but for some reason she and Castle are the subjects of everyone's scrutiny. They all know who he is (he's actually been sneaky in signing a few books already), and most of the relatives are quick enough to realize she's Nikki Heat. It's something she's grown to accept even if she will never, ever admit it to Castle. But for today, she's content enough to let him preen while she smiles politely, resting her cheek on his shoulder between meet and greets.

"Looks like we should've brought your fangirl chin guard, Castle."

His face splits into a grin when she tweaks his chin gently. She's been trying to relax into this thing between them since that night in the coffee shop. The touches started coming more easily after spending the day literally chained to each other. That day he'd accused her of not wanting to give at all, so now she gives in the small ways. So far she thinks he likes her progress. So far she likes her progress, too.

"On the contrary, Detective, you're the one getting most of the attention today."

"I am not," she scoffs. "You're the one doing all the talking, as usual."

"Only because you aren't. I'm fielding your questions and mine. I feel like a press secretary." His tone suggests he doesn't mind in the least.

"You poor, overworked, thing."

He heaves a martyred sigh before he pats her hand affectionately. "The things I do for you."

She giggles into his shoulder, taking the opportunity to breathe him in. He smells good. Not that he usually smells bad – although by the end of last month's mini team-building retreat with the tiger, he'd been a little farther toward the ripe manly musk end of the spectrum than usual – but tonight he just smells _good_. She's not sure if it's a new cologne or aftershave, or if he changed deodorant or fabric softener (although why he'd throw his tux in the dryer is beyond her), but everything about it invites her to press her nose into his neck, just beneath his ear, and inhale.

She won't, of course. Because along with the urge to get closer to him is the urge to kiss him, to take his hand and escape cocktail hour in favor of finding a dark corner and discovering if the rest of him smells as good as his neck and shoulder do, and she's… they're not ready for that. He'd be up for it, hell she's up for it, but they're not there yet. She has a feeling they could be ready soon, but not yet.

"– more snacks? Beckett, are you blushing?"

Crap, she's been staring at him for God only knows how long, daydreaming about doing terribly delicious things to him. And he's caught her. If she wasn't blushing before, she is now.

"No. It's just… warm in here. With all the people," she stammers, knowing how lame it sounds.

But apparently it doesn't sound lame at all, because Castle's teasing smile fades and she sees him immediately start looking for exits.

"What can I do? Should we find somewhere quiet? How bad is it?" He uses their locked arms to steer her to one side.

How ba- oh no, he thinks she's having an attack and she needs to get out of there.

"Castle, Castle, no. I'm fine. I'm okay. It's not… I'm fine." She punctuates it with a smile, settling her other hand on his arm, pulling him to face her. "I zoned out and it's warm in here, that's all."

She meets his eyes, letting him search her face until he seems content with her explanation.

"I promise. No panic attacks here. It's a good day." Her thumb brushes his forearm. It is a good day. One of her best friends – one of her brothers – just got married. She has Castle at her side. Being here, seeing these happy people has made it possible for this to be a good day.

"Okay," he relents, drawing her hand into his. "So what were you thinking about that you zoned out?"

She flushes again, but doesn't look away until Castle's eyes widen.

"O-oh! Oh. Well, I have no problem getting out of here for _that_. If you insist, Beckett." He pantomimes making a quick escape, earning more than a few giggles.

Giving his hand a tug stills him. "Easy, lover boy. How 'bout you get me some of those snacks you mentioned instead?"

Castle grins. "Kay. Let's do that."

It isn't until later when they're swaying too-slowly to some upbeat love song that she asks, "Did you change your soap?"

To his credit, Castle's answering "Huh?" is quite thoughtful and well worded.

She laughs softly, smoothing her hand over the back of his neck. "Your soap, shampoo, cologne, something. Did you change it for today?"

Bravely, she presses her nose into his neck and inhales. If his shudder is anything to go on, it's either the very good or the very bad move she'd imagined it would be earlier. But oh does he smell good. He feels good, too, pressed against her with his large fingers splayed across her lower back to fit their bodies together. As if they really need help with that.

"No? Nothing new. Except, well, I put on cologne today. Usually I don't, since most of the time it's a little unnece- mhmm, I am shutting up now."

It's probably a little wicked, nuzzling him like this, but she's full from dinner, and warm from the combination of his proximity and the delicious red wine Castle picked out for her. It's only right that she share that warmth with her partner.

"Mhmm, I like it." She thumbs his hairline slowly. She knows her next words probably sound cavalier, but her heart thuds a little harder when she speaks, "Wear it next week?"

He nods agreeably, mimicking her thumb's movement along the line of her spine. Suppressing her shiver isn't even an option when he's this close.

It only takes him a moment to process her words and ask, "What's next week? I'll wear it to work if you want. I didn't think you'd like it this much, otherwise I would've been wearing it more often already."

She lets her lips curve gently before she shakes her head. Here it is, the moment of truth. A step she both needs and wants to take with him.

"Not to work, wear it on our date."

Silence greets her, but she chances a glance up at him from under her lashes. He looks stunned, but beneath that, she sees the giddy, eager parts of him begging to be released.

"Our… date."

She lifts her chin, hoping she looks more confident than she suddenly feels. "Mhmm. Our date."

He's not swaying anymore, and if they're not careful they're going to start attracting attention on the dance floor. She nudges him gently, starting a new rhythm for them.

"B-Beckett, are you asking me out? Just to be clear."

He sounds so hopeful, but still cautious enough to need assurance.

"Well, it sounded more like telling to me, but… will you go out with me, Castle? On a date?"

The fingers on her back tense slightly before pulling her closer. He's thrumming against her, positively elated, and her fingers slide through his hair. His lips tease her ear, breath moving her hair across her cheek. She doesn't have to strain at all to hear his response,

"Why, Detective Beckett, I would be delighted to go on a date with you."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Once again, thank you so much to everyone for the wonderful feedback on this story. You have no idea how much it means to me. To one of my guest reviewers from last time, hopefully this chapter explains a little more of Castle's motivation for being upset in the last chapter and perhaps makes it seem less jarring in retrospect. Thank you for your comment on that, it got me thinking and it actually spawned another revision to this chapter to make sure things were clearer._


	6. One Giant Leap

**Seeking Clarity**

**Chapter Six**

* * *

><p>If she's honest with herself, she's known something like this was coming. Something that takes the good things that are happening in their lives and twists them around, turning them into a mess. That's what this case is doing. It's the proverbial other shoe.<p>

She keeps telling herself they've fought before. They have, of course, more often than she cares to admit. They've ripped each other apart and put themselves back together each time. Once they even argued about something similar.

It hits her so much harder now. It shouldn't, but it absolutely does. Things are different now, so much different than they were a year ago when Damian Westlake's innocence was called into question.

It's because they've just barely gotten started. Just two nights ago, they'd had their (long-awaited and twice postponed, thanks to catching cases) first date.

Two nights ago he'd walked her home from the subway, holding her hand gently, but firmly. Two nights ago he'd smiled shyly and thanked her for their night. For their dinner in a gorgeous little place he'd never been to, and for the walk they'd taken in spite of the cold. Two nights ago he'd stood beside her at her doorstep and cradled her face in his hands before giving her what was possibly the sweetest, softest goodnight kiss she'd experienced in her entire life. One kiss turned to several and her hands had curled in his coat, keeping him pressed against her as his tongue did despicably delightful things to her mouth. It'd been an ungodly, leg-shaking preview of what was to come.

Two nights ago, she'd kissed Richard Castle against her front door like a starving woman before he'd backed off and wished her goodnight with another balming kiss. Two nights ago, she'd wobbled into her apartment with her fingers on her lips to hold his kisses there as long as she could, her mind already racing at the possibilities for their next date; it's Castle's turn to plan.

Now she's not sure there will be a next date. Not if she has to put his friend – his high-powered connection, and probably the only person capable of keeping him at the precinct with her – in jail. Even the implications set them on edge, making every word he says to her almost brittle. The implications make her brittle, too, she knows.

Their friends mean well, but she wants to snap at the boys that she _knows_ what's at stake here every time they remind her. She knows how her boss feels about her partner and the mayor's "interference" in her chain of command. She knows what it'll do to someone who, by all appearances, is a decent, nice guy if they pursue this like they _should,_ like they _will,_ and it turns out he's innocent.

She knows what it'll do to Castle to have put his faith in someone and had them let him down. Someone else. She knows how loyal he is; abusing that loyalty hurts him more than he ever lets on. She doesn't want to feel responsible for letting him down again, even if she isn't the one at fault.

But she can't stop doing her job to save her partner's feelings. She can't choose not to pursue a killer to avoid seeing Castle look at her like she's broken something precious to him, like she's doing this on purpose to be rid of him or to let Gates denigrate him for her own amusement. She tries to tell him this, tries to imbue confidence in _them_, in everything their history and their one official date means to her. She thinks he gets it, but a part of her also thinks maybe it's just not enough. Maybe knowing she's on his side sounds great on paper, but in execution, she's going to fall short and he knows it.

Her stomach aches at the thought of this being the thing that ruins them. Not months of silence, not lies by omission, but doing her job. The thing that brought her to him to begin with. It kills her, that thought.

Still, she squares her shoulders and does her job. She defends herself against her partner's plaintive looks and shores her defenses when facing Gates. She actually likes the woman, at least more than she did when they met months ago. She doesn't necessarily appreciate the captain's approaches, Gates plays the political game a little too well for her liking, but they're working toward the same goal most days; justice for the victims. She gets justice for the victims, and she'll get justice for this victim, too. Even if it means giving up something – someone – wonderful.

She debates calling him when she gets home from work, but ultimately retreats to her bedroom with a mug of the tea Castle once insisted she just _had_ to try and a book. Still, once she changes into her pajamas and gets comfortable, she rests her phone on her knee hoping it'll hold the answers to her predicament. Sadly, the phone holds no secrets, nor does it ring on her silent command.

One of them is going to have to reach out, to keep them from ending up locked in a stalemate. She could be the one to call him. Even if it is just to reiterate that she doesn't want this case to be their downfall. She could remind him that she understands how he feels and she wishes she knew of some other way to get their answers. Any other way.

At the same time, it would be nice if he would call her and say the same thing. That _he_ understands her position and he doesn't want this to be what drives them away from each other either.

Exhaling into her empty bedroom, she finally gives up on willing her phone to ring and lifts her book. The tea is good, but it cooled off quickly and she's weary enough that getting up and nuking it in the microwave is more of a bother than anything else.

She's only read a few pages when her eyelids start to droop. Fighting with Castle still exhausts her.

She's about to turn out the light and give in to the sleep she needs when the knock comes. His knock. He's distinctive normally but in her quiet apartment it's just loud. Her heart jumps into her throat; he's here when a phone call would've sufficed. She doesn't think about letting him stew outside. They'll figure this out.

Her feet hit the floor and she ignores the chill from the hardwood in favor of padding to the door quickly.

"Hey," she greets, stepping aside before the door's even open to allow him in. "I didn't think I'd see you tonight."

She smiles to let him know it's not meant as a nag or admonishment, but she watches something weird and unidentifiable shutter across his face.

"He called me again," he blurts. "The other night. I met him half an hour ago. This is, Beckett, this isn't just about our victim or the mayor. This is abou-"

"Castle, you… what? You did what? You _met_ with him? Smith?"

She presses her back against the door, staring at him. Now he's talking so fast, she's only managing to catch every third word. "Castle, slow down. What are you saying?"

Her voice is sharper than she means it to be, but it gets his attention. It gets him to take a breath.

"Sit," she commands, needing to contain his nervous energy somehow.

She has a feeling they're going to need a drink before this is all over, and while he finally manages to lower himself onto her couch, she ducks into the kitchen. He's not here to kiss and make up, that much is (disappointingly) obvious, and she's absolutely sure she's not ready to deal with what he _is_ here for. There are only a few times he's looked at her this desperately and she hasn't enjoyed any of them.

She swallows a solid amount of her wine before she even leaves the kitchen, using the fake courage in a way she knows isn't healthy. At this point, though, she can't bring herself to care about her therapist's "recommended" coping mechanisms. Not when the mysterious Mr. Smith, the one who wants her off her mother's case, is involved in _this_ case, too. But she can't avoid it, or Castle, no matter how much she wants to, so she takes a deep breath, sucks it up, and returns to her partner.

"Drink and talk," she orders, handing him a glass.

She's already agitated, even though she's not sure she has cause to be. She perches beside him anyway, close enough to feel the heat from his thigh. She sips when he does, watching his expression carefully. If he tries to lie to her about any of this, she'll know.

"Smith called me."

"Why?" She presses. "Castle, I haven't touched the case. You know I haven't." She gestures to the closed shutters for emphasis. "What the hell did he want?"

He gulps his wine again. She knows the feeling.

"It's this case. Weldon. Smith warned me –"

She jumps up, shaking her head vigorously. "No, Castle. I'm not letting this man, Smith or whatever the hell his name really is, dictate how to do my job. If the mayor killed that woman, or if he paid someone to kill her… if he has anything to do with my mother's case, I have to know."

"It's not Weldon, Kate, it's not."

"You don't know that! You're making assumptions, stupid assumptions, and taking stupid risks," she adds as she remembers his panicked words about _meeting_ with the man. "You _met_ with him? Do you realize how dangerous that is?"

She downs the rest of her wine, shoving the glass haphazardly onto the coffee table. Castle moves to steady it, but she pushes him back.

"Listen to me, Castle. What you did was so stupid, so dangerous," she stops as her voice catches and she flattens her hand on his chest. "We know this is connected to my mom's' case, or he wouldn't be calling you and warning you away. So if it's dangerous for me, it's dangerous for you." She clears her throat, smoothing her hands up to hold his face. "I'm not touching her case right now, but I'm not giving this one up, too. And I'm not going to let you get yourself hurt because of this." She makes sure she has his eyes. "Castle, don't ever meet with him without me again."

She kisses him hard, channeling every ounce of her rising panic into the slide of her mouth over his, the press of her tongue against his lip. Castle groans, the action spurring him to manhandle her closer, lips parting under hers. He tastes like the smoky Shiraz she'd shoved at him, with a hint of coffee sweetness. His stubble tickles her fingers; distantly, she realizes she can't wait to feel it brush other parts of her.

"Kate, Kate, wait," he stammers as her hand slips down his neck to the warm, bare skin beneath his open collar. She takes another kiss from his mouth before turning her lips to his jaw. She nips lightly, soothing the spot with a gentle press of lips and then her tongue.

"Castle." She presses her weight against him even more, biting back a shudder. "God, Castle." She sounds breathless to her own ears.

"Kate." Whatever he might have been about to say gets tossed away when he pulls her head back to his. He kisses her like he's afraid this is a trick, a dream, anything that will leave him out in the cold in a few minutes.

She shakes her head, silently promising that won't happen, smoothing his hair back.

"Stay tonight. Stay. Don't go back out there with these people." She kisses him softly, soothingly, feeling her exhaustion creep in again. "Let's just deal with this case and everything else tomorrow and go to bed now."

Her mouth opens against his, a ghost kiss that whispers her hope better than her words ever could.

"Please?" she adds anyway. Just in case.

Castle nods slowly. His hands slide over her back tentatively, raising goose bumps on her arms. She shivers.

"Are you sure, Kate?"

She simply nods, not trusting her voice for much longer.

He clears his throat, matching her nod. "Then let's go. Let's go to bed."

She slides off his lap, leaning over him to haul him up. It isn't until she takes in his pink cheeks that she remembers her loose pajama top. Well… he got a show. One he was going to get soon enough. He doesn't look like he was repulsed by what he saw, after all.

Even if it's just to sleep, her heart pounds at the thought of having him beside her in bed. A subtle warmth licks at her still. Every inch of her is aware of him at her back as she leads him the short distance to her bedroom, using the dim light from her nightstand as a guide. A glance over her shoulder tells her he feels the same. He looks stunned, nervous, but the way he's watching her speaks to his desire for her, too.

"Castle," she breathes, yanking him closer, needing another taste of that desire.

"Mhmm, Beckett. Beckett, Beckett, Beckett." His fingers curl in her hair, hips rocking against her.

He pulls away, practically falling over in his haste to back up. It's the smart choice, slowing things down, but she can't help but feel disappointed.

"I should… bathroom… maybe a quick shower?"

Heat flares in her cheeks. A quick cold shower, no doubt.

"Yeah, yeah go," she croaks, licking her lips. "Towels are on the shelf in there. Take your time. I'll get water… cold water."

Castle laughs tightly, nodding as he practically runs to the bathroom.

She slumps, scrubbing her hands over her face. She still wants him to stay, no matter how out of hand the night has gotten. They can handle this, she's sure. They can handle sleeping beside each other without devouring each other. They just need to cool down. God, she feels like a teenager.

After a moment, she gets water for the sake of having something to do. It's difficult not to think about the lengths he may be going to in attempt to get himself under control. He's just a few feet from her bed, after all. By the time she's settled under the covers and picked up her book again, Castle emerges from her bathroom, clad in just his boxers and a dark gray V-neck undershirt. His hair is damp and falling everywhere; the complete opposite of his usual primped look, but she likes it a lot. He shifts his weight under her scrutiny, his bare toes curling against her floor.

"Hey," she calls, marking her page and tossing her book to the side. "You look cold, come here."

His knee touches the mattress tentatively as she holds his eyes, encouraging him to join her. They both exhale once he's completely under the covers. It's odd and new, but somehow comfortable being this close.

"Your water is _frigid_, Beckett." He shivers, possibly for effect, possibly out of residual chilliness.

Oh, she knows. She knows quite well how it feels to stand under the freezing stream and will away the memory of his kiss and his touch. She's done it more times than she wants to admit.

"I know." She sends him a lopsided smile instead, nudging his knee with hers.

She scoots closer, seeking him out. She doesn't want to be strangers in her bed, even if things shouldn't get heated right now.

"My covers are warm, though, so it evens out." Settling into his side, she trails her fingers down his arm, waiting a beat to offer her hand to him. He presses their palms together, turning a tender look to her.

"Kate," he starts.

"Tomorrow, Castle." She kisses his shoulder quickly. "We'll deal with all of it tomorrow. Let's just sleep now, please," she's almost begging, but she can't hash Smith, and Weldon, and this case out with him right now.

His lips brush her forehead. "Tomorrow, then."

She exhales, relieved. Tomorrow they can tackle the hard stuff. Tonight they'll hold one another and enjoy being here and being together.

* * *

><p>Honestly, she's not sure how much sleep he actually gets. She knows she slept embarrassingly well, startling just a couple times only to have the steady thump of his heart against her cheek lull her back to sleep almost instantly, but she has no idea if he can say the same. When her eyelids finally peel back, he's already awake. He's still in bed, but his attention seems to be solely focused on searching for something on his phone.<p>

"Whassit?" It sounds far more articulate in her head, but mashing her face against his arm doesn't really lend itself to enunciation.

"Something Smith said," he mumbles, absentmindedly lifting his hand to cup her ear. He turns his head, kissing her hair. It's an intimate, practiced move, and it has her eyes slipping shut as she leans into his touch. Her stomach clenches; she wants more mornings like this so, so badly. "It came to me a few minutes ago."

Oh they were doing this already. She hasn't even had coffee yet.

"What'd he say?" She props up, pushing her hair away from her face.

"Listen to the evidence," he says, smoothing her bedhead down gently. "But it doesn't make sense. We've gone over it so many times and there's nothing."

She pinches the bridge of her nose. "Castle… I know you want…" she pauses to gather her thoughts. Doing this after coffee would make her feel so much better, really. "We both know it's important how this ends, but we have to face the idea that it might not end the way we want it to."

"If there's nothing here, why would he care if the mayor goes down for this?"

"I don't know, Castle. I don't. And I don't like thinking Weldon's dirty any more than you do, but every bit of evidence I have right now says that. I can't change that or ignore it."

Silence greets her. He's back to staring at his phone.

"Castle are you listening to me?"

God, she already sounds like _that_ girlfriend. Well, if it ends soon, at least they got to that milestone. "Look, I don't know what you heard, but –"

His eyes shoot up to hers. "What I heard? What I heard!"

The kiss he gives her is quick, sloppy, and unapologetic for their mutual morning breath. His large hand warms the back of her head and she misses it almost instantly when he pulls away.

"Beckett, you're a genius."

He practically falls on his face in his haste to disentangle himself from her covers. "Now where'd I put my pants?" he mutters, scrambling around her room. It would be cute if not for the fact that she is totally and completely lost. He keeps repeating, "What I heard," without sharing with the class.

"Chair." She points. "Rick, where _are_ you going? Not to see Smith again, are you?"

"No, no, no. I just have to check something out. I'll call you as soon as I know what I have, if I have anything."

"Ohh…kay." A glance at the clock tells her it's time to get ready for work. She doesn't have time to shower, but she's pretty sure she's good to go anyway. Personally, she'd rather watch Castle hop around her bedroom, shoving his sockless feet into his shoes than get ready. It's more entertaining than most of her non-body drop mornings usually are.

"You know, Castle, I never expected you to be in such a rush to get away after sleeping with me."

She leans her cheek on her knee, quirking her lips to show him she's kidding. As worried as she is about the state of things, she's actually grateful her partner's coping mechanisms are rubbing off on her.

Castle sputters. "I- no! No, I'm – I'm not trying to get away. I'm not, I'm not. I just, I gotta fix this. Or try to."

He skids over to her, perching on the bed again. His fingers splay widely beside her hip. It cants her into him, allowing her to slide her arms around his neck without stretching. They've crossed a line. They're doing this now: kissing, sleeping beside one another. She likes doing this with him.

"You will call me the second you know anything," she orders, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"I will, Kate."

She nods. "Okay."

The kiss he gives her before he leaves is tinged with a little too much "goodbye" for her liking. It's a kiss she carries with her all day, even after he calls her to Dial-A-Goddess and the real killer ends up in custody. She's still thinking about it, and the previous night in general, as she finishes taking down her murder board and looking around the nearly empty precinct. The night shifters are so quiet, she sometimes forgets they're there.

She hasn't seen Castle in hours. He ducked out soon after Jordan's shady lawyer showed up and stonewalled them. She's sure he's with the mayor, supporting his friend through the aftermath of all this. It's a heavy, disappointing feeling; knowing she may have just ruined the man's career and the real killer will likely get off scot-free. Justice doesn't feel so hot right now.

When she finally leaves the precinct, it only takes her a half second to decide where she wants to go. She should go home, but her feet start taking her to him, to the loft. It's late, she knows. He might already be asleep, or he might not even be there. He does have a life outside of her, after all. She could be wasting her time. But she still has to try. She has to make sure they _are_ going to be okay after the last few days.

His door opens before she even has the chance to knock, and she barely manages to step back before the person leaving can run into her.

"Excuse me. Oh, Detective Beckett."

She straightens. "Mr. Mayor. I'm sorry; I'm in your way."

"No, no. It's not your fault, I wasn't looking where I was going." He fixes his scarf, smiling courteously. "I'm glad to see you, actually. I know things got heated at times, but I wanted to make sure you knew I don't hold your investigation against you."

She blinks. Surely he's kidding. She's tarnished his reputation at the least, and at the worst, ruined his career for anything after he leaves office. But he's not holding it against her?

"I'm, that's kind, thank you. But why?"

Weldon actually chuckles. "You did your job, Detective. That's what you're supposed to do, whether you've taken my money in poker before or not. Whether I'm Rick's friend or not, and I thank you for that."

It's the point she's tried to remember and communicate to Castle throughout the investigation, but she's surprised the mayor himself recognizes it. "Still, I regret the fallout you must be dealing with right now."

His smile is far more polite than she knows hers would be if she were in his place. "You're one of the best detectives I've had the pleasure of meeting. Don't stop doing what you have to do for anyone." He shakes her hand firmly. "He's inside. Have a good evening, Detective."

He? Oh, Castle. Right. She feels her cheeks get hot. The mayor did just catch her coming to her partner's home later than polite company usually should. That looks…

Like none of his business.

She lifts her chin, not willing to look embarrassed. "You, too, Mr. Mayor. You, too."

While she waits for the mayor to round the corner, she combs her hand through her hair. That was an odd encounter. Very odd, but it's over. Once she's sure he's gone, she steps up to Castle's door, tapping carefully.

"Bob, come back to take me up on my offer to take your money?" Castle stops. "Beckett? Hey?" Her poor partner looks so confused, she can't help but smile.

"Hey. Is this a bad time?"

"Nope, not at all. Come in." He steps back, but she notices him glance around the hallway before he closes the door behind her.

"We ran into each other. Almost literally." She lets him drag her coat down her arms as an indicator that he wants her to stay. "He thanked me," she adds, fidgeting while his back is turned.

There's an air of finality to him hanging her coat. Usually she drapes it over a chair, keeping it in close reach in case she needs to make a quick getaway for work. Tonight there's no chance of being called out; tomorrow is her day off and Castle knows that.

"He didn't want you not to get justice, Kate. You _are_ one of NYPD's finest."

"That doesn't mean he shouldn't be a little pissed, or disturbed at the very least."

He doesn't respond. Instead, Castle's hand closes around hers, giving her a gentle tug to the kitchen. She sees two tumblers by the sink, one empty, one still boasting almost a finger's worth of amber liquid.

"Yours?" She glances at Castle and then the glass. He nods affirmatively, thumb circling the knuckle on her index finger.

"Would you like a glass?"

"I'll finish this." She downs the rest quickly, hissing a little at the burn on the back of her throat. Warmth infuses her instantly, spreading across her cheeks and down her arm to the point where their hands touch.

"Have you eaten?" He jostles their hands lightly.

"Grabbed a sandwich from the deli cart earlier. Have you?" She arches an eyebrow. He looks away sheepishly.

"I was getting to it."

"Sure you were. You know you're not actually a starving artist anymore, Castle," she teases, stepping closer. "You can feed yourself."

She takes a chance on brushing a kiss over his jaw. Each kiss has come more easily for her than the last, but with everything still a little out of whack tonight, she's hesitant to overstep.

"Sit, I'll make us something. I'm hungry again." She nudges him to a bar stool, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze when he follows directions. "What'll it be tonight? The Beckett Special?"

"There's a Beckett Special?"

"Uh huh," she hums, smoothing her hands over the lapel of his shirt. "Don't make fun, I think you'll like it."

"Oh I love all your specials, Beckett."

She drops a peck on his smirking lips. It delights him, she can tell. She'll keep doing that, then, giving him the affection they both need.

"I'll bet you do."

There's nothing truly exceptional or special about the meal she makes, but Castle crows like it's the best thing he's ever consumed. He once did the same thing over bacon and eggs, she remembers. It's a nice feeling, knowing he likes her attempts to return the favor and care for him, even if he probably exaggerates the deliciousness of them. She'll get better at meal-for-two preparation the more she does it.

"I'm glad you came over tonight, Kate," he tells her as swallows the last bite of his dinner.

"I am, too." She settles her palm on his leg. Not too high, but too far from the safer (relatively speaking) territory of his knee to be misconstrued as anything but a gesture of affection.

"About Smith," they say as one.

She gestures for him to go first, giving him the opportunity to lead.

"I'm still trying to figure out why this case. Why warn us about the tapes? Why direct us to them at all. There was nothing about your mother's murder in them."

She nods. "I want to know that, too."

Castle licks his lips. She has a feeling she's not going to like what he says next. "Then I need to call him."

Her feeling was right. She doesn't like it. "And meet with him?"

"Yes, I think I should."

"Then I'm going with you."

He shakes his head. "Beckett, I don't think that's a good idea."

"I don't care. I'm off my case now because you asked me to be. I'm going with you. I said it last night, Castle; if this is dangerous for me, it's more dangerous for you." She squeezes his thigh to punctuate her statement, her seriousness. Not that her weapon helped her much when she got shot, but she won't send him out there without backup. "And after tonight, Mulder, no more clandestine meetings with Mr. X. Do you hear me?"

"I'll be honest and tell you I hear you better when your hand's not right there. But thank you for calling me Mulder, that's appreciated. And hot. You're such a sexy Scully."

His tactic works as they both crack tiny smiles. Their lips brush quickly, offering the barest relief from the tension. She's not backing down about this, so he's just going to have to deal with it.

"Make the call. I'll stay in the car, provided you keep a phone line open. Then we'll know what he knows, and we can put anything new on the board in there," she jerks her chin toward his office and the makeshift murder board he'd constructed after being kicked out of the precinct. "And we'll put it on my board at my place, and then it rests until we can do it for real. That's my offer."

She pulls away, making sure he can see how serious she is, all X-Files monikers aside. "Deal?"

Castle nods. "Deal."

"Okay," she agrees, licking her lips. "Good."

"Good."

Wanting to get this show on the road, she slides off her stool, grabbing their plates to do a quick clean up while he calls. "I'll put these in the dishwasher and get my shoes. We'll take your car."

"Do I get to drive?"

"Yes, Castle, you get to drive."

True to her word, she stays in the car, slumped so low she can't be seen by anyone passing by. Castle holds his phone in his hand as he waits for their mystery man. The line is already open; she can hear every whoosh of air across the mic as Castle fidgets. He might even be reciting spy movie dialogue under his breath, but she can't be sure. It would be cute if she weren't so nervous and ready for this to be over. Putting him in the line of fire isn't her first choice by any means, but she's armed, and she'll be out of the car the instant anything looks suspicious.

For now, her only job is to listen.

Her tension grows as headlights catch the side mirror, and Castle's murmured, "That's him," doesn't help matters at all.

In the end, Castle asks or tries to ask everything they discussed on the way over, and the mystery man sheds no more light on things than they knew or suspected before. Smith thinks that if the mayor is out, so is Castle, and then there's nothing to keep her from working the case and blowing the deal. He doesn't tell Castle who's behind any of this – the shooting, the plot to oust Weldon, nothing. Ultimately, they still have nothing.

She hates knowing she's doing what this mystery man wants and ultimately letting the man who killed her mother and her captain go free. It burns her from the inside out, causes a flare of pain in her chest. But so does the thought of Castle being the one to die next. So does the thought of Alexis losing her dad.

Castle's quiet when he slides behind the wheel. She knows it's because he was hoping for more success than they had. She was hoping, too, but she doesn't blame him for not getting more answers. Silently, she offers him her hand. They're still in this together, successful or not.

"Come on, Castle, let's go. It's late."

"It is late," he agrees, disappointment etched on his face.

She sits back, keeping his hand between hers even when it looks like he might need to use it to shift gears. He tries anyway, awkwardly reaching across his body only to come up short of the console. She lifts an eyebrow in amusement, giving him his hand back for as long as it takes to get them out of the parking structure.

"Drop you off at your place?" he asks once they're on the road.

She could say yes, but she's not ready to go home and be alone. Not after spending last night pressed against him. It really has been in the back of her mind all day long; the slide of his mouth, the heat of his breath, his hands against her hips through her pajama pants.

"Not tonight." She takes a deep breath, biting her lip and hoping he'll understand what she wants to say without her actually saying it. She's still scared, still not exactly where she wants to be, but she also doesn't want to wait any longer. Not for something that felt so good, so right.

"Not ton- oh. Are you sure?"

Her fingers trail over his hand. "Uh huh."

"But we've… just had the one date? And… what about the wall?"

"Do you think we need more dates, Castle?"

She almost laughs as he side eyes her, like she's tricking him by asking.

"Four years, Castle. Almost. I think dates are a little unnecessary by this point. Nice, enjoyable, but unnecessary." She squeezes his hand.

"Well, that's true…" Now he sounds almost coy. He's on board. Still following her lead, but on board.

"And walls come down easier when people work together at demolition, don't they?" They're already working at it together, after all.

He thumbs her knuckle. "They do."

She nods. Now he gets it. Still, she leans across the console, rubbing her nose against his cheek.

"Do you want me to spell it out? Let's go back to your place and make lo-"

"Shh, don't jinx it."

Her lips press against his stubble.

"There's nothing to jinx. Take me home, Castle," she commands quietly. "Let's go finish what we started last night."

She can't say everything just yet, but judging by the look on his face, she knows those words are enough for now.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I haven't had the chance to reply to everyone re: last chapter because I wanted to make sure I got this chapter ready for today. That said, this is a blanket thank you to everyone for reading and bearing with me on this journey!_


	7. Head Above Water

**Seeking Clarity**

**Chapter Seven - Head Above Water**

**_Note: This chapter takes place after Pandora/Linchpin, so we have a little bit of a time jump._**

* * *

><p>In the murky darkness, she can't be sure her eyes are even open.<p>

She twists and a silver lion makes her breath catch. There were no lions in the river. Nothing at all that she saw. What's going on here?

Blinking again clears the distortion in her vision, the visual memory of water obscuring everything, and she focuses on the lion again. It's just the huge photo opposite the bed. Just a picture. Nothing to worry about, other than how disconcerting it is to wake up to that.

Panic still licks at the edges of her consciousness, but it fades with each ragged breath she sucks into her lungs.

Drowning. She was dreaming about drowning. Again.

It's the fourth time in as many days. The fourth time since Castle breathed life back into her – literally this time – and she woke up staring into his frantic eyes on a deserted dock, waterlogged but thankfully alive. She remembers gripping his back tightly as the air rushed into her lungs.

As much as she enjoys clutching Castle as he hovers over her, that moment is a memory she's more than willing to do without. They've tried their hardest since then to replace the memory with something much, much better.

Speaking of Castle, she has no idea where he is. It's almost – ugh, a glance at her phone tells her it's almost 3 AM – and his pillow is cold, despite still bearing the imprint of his head. Apparently, he can't sleep either. What a pair they make.

Well, they'll be a sleepless pair together. She's fine with that. She's fine with sitting on the couch until they both pass out and wake up later with stiff necks. She'd rather have to pop two aspirin with her coffee in the morning than spend the remaining hours of the night thinking about the gun that woman put to her partner's head. She'll take a sleep deprivation headache over a night of seeing Castle drown with a bullet in his head in her dreams.

She throws the covers off, biting back a hiss at the cool air. They changed the blankets together the other night, piling on something warmer (something Sophia Turner's bony ass hadn't touched) before they collapsed. A couple of times it's been too hot under the thick quilt with both of them pressed together, but for the most part it's been nice having the security.

Of course, it also makes the loft feel colder when she has to get up to pee or attempt to find him in the middle of the night.

She doesn't call for him before she starts looking. It's too late, or too early, depending on who she asks. Alexis should be leaving for her shift with Lanie soon, but she still doesn't want to make too much noise. She's just grateful she's wearing her own, reasonably modest PJs tonight, so if she has to venture out into the kitchen she won't surprise the girl the way she did the first night she stayed over. She'd been wearing Castle's discarded dress shirt and slipped out of his room for water while he slept, only to find his daughter up studying. Alexis had taken it in stride, of course, but it was awkward nonetheless.

That was actually the night Alexis asked about working at the morgue and she'd promised to get her connected with Lanie. She really had thought her partner would be okay with it, but that plan backfired handily. Of course, combining the already uncomfortable situation with the petty, jealous, awful things she said to Castle didn't help. She hopes she's at least started to make up for the things she said in the morgue, and show his daughter (and the man himself) that, while it wasn't her finest moment, she _does_ think the world of her partner.

Thankfully, she only has to venture into Castle's office to find him. No ducking into the main area of the loft this time.

"Hey," she calls softly, trying to avoid startling him. She pushes her hair behind her ear on her way to stand beside him. "Writing?"

Her hand brushes the warm line of his shoulder before moving to cup his neck.

"Mhmm, sorry, did I wake you?"

She squeezes his neck gently, stroking the baby soft curve of his earlobe. "Nightmare," she explains, keeping her voice low. Her lips press against his temple. "You, too?"

His hands abandon the keyboard to guide her to join him in his chair. As soon as she's settled, his hand creeps under her top, finding its almost-regular spot against the small of her back. Her lips find his chin before her head settles against his shoulder. He's tense, but he always is – as far as her limited knowledge suggests – when he's had an idea take hold. It doesn't mean he woke up worried one or both of them hadn't made it the way she did.

"Yeah," he confirms in the quiet. Damn, there goes that idea.

Without a word, she lifts a hand to massage his neck and shoulders gently. His Adam's apple bobs under her lips when she kisses his throat. Touch helps.

"You wanna talk about it?" It's the same thing he always asks her when she wakes up with wild, panicked eyes. After the other day she's started asking him, too.

"About the book? Spoilers, Beckett."

"Cute, Castle. Which dream was it?"

She takes a slow kiss from him, fortifying them both to talk about it. Her hand trails up his neck and along the line of his jaw, her fingers attempting to draw calmness to the surface and banish the tension.

"Same as the other night," he admits finally.

Right. The dream where Sophia was the one pulling the trigger on her in the cemetery. He'd woken her in a panic, hovering over her, half sobbing her name into her chest over the scar. She'd gone to work the next day still shaking from the intensity of their lovemaking. Tonight the dream inspired him to write.

Humming, she presses closer. "Still here, Castle. Still here." Her hand finds his, pressing his palm over her chest. He relaxes at her heartbeat, steady and strong under his hand.

She kisses him gently, cradling his chin between her fingertips. He's scruffy again and she relishes in it. He almost always shaves as soon as he wakes up.

"Writing helped?"

He nods, thumbing the small of her back in slow, gentle circles. "It helped."

"Want to write more? I can leave you alone."

"No, no, I'm done for tonight," he pauses. "You had a nightmare, Kate."

She nods, pecking his lips again. She feels better just being here. He helps. "I'm okay now. Come to bed? Or we can watch TV? No water movies, though."

"Waterworld sucked," he mutters, resting his forehead against her temple.

Her lips lift. He's tired, she's tired; they really shouldn't stay up.

"One episode, something light?" she suggests anyway. "Maybe that stupid reality show you watch?"

"It's not stupid, Kate. It's –"

"Trashy? Contrived?" She grins, sinking against him even more as he shifts his grip on her back, sliding his other hand down her front to curl around her bare knee.

"Just for that, I think we're watching two episodes." With that, he heaves himself out of the chair, lifting her with him. She smothers her squawk in his shoulder; surprise makes her forget to demand that he put her down. She can only manage to shake her head when they collapse into one of plush leather chairs that face the TV. It's a squishy fit, but it's nice on nights like this. Maybe she'll eventually convince him to get a small couch in here to replace the arm chairs, so they can have other movie nights in here with Alexis.

"You'll hurt for that in the morning," she warns, rubbing his neck once they're settled. Castle's unapologetic grin warms her anyway.

It's still relatively new, but so far this relationship has been easier than she expected. They still clash and argue at work, they knock elbows and bump knees in bed, but at the end of the day, they do this, too. They laugh and kiss, and his hands, mouth, and body work to drive her insane, only for her to turn the tables on him and do the same. They make dinners together, swapping playful barbs as they prep their meal. They spend time with his family, and she hopes her dad's schedule will clear up enough for them to spend time with him soon, too. She wants her dad to know Castle in a way that doesn't remind them of funerals, or the hospital, or recovery.

Sophia's words from the other day are still in her head, but she knows better than to listen to them. At the time they had hurt, they had made her think, made her wonder if this could really work when there's still so much about each other they don't know. She's still dealing with things, and Castle clearly still has some of his own skeletons to work through, and things probably will get rough at some point in the future. (Rougher, even, than the last few days.) But now she knows for sure that the words were lies, designed carefully to spark that doubt to keep her off balance and put distance between them. She won't let that happen. The chase was good, fun, just as Sophia described, but this is going to be better.

Castle shakes his head. "I'll be okay, Kate. And for your earlier snark, Miss I Record Temptation Lane on _Two_ DVRs, we are definitely watching at least two episodes. Maybe more."

"You remember at least one of us has to go to work tomorrow? Sometime before noon?" Her brow arches. Of course, her boyfriend ignores her hint, brushing his mouth across hers and gallantly draping a blanket around them. So chivalrous.

She exhales, slumping into him and resting her cheek against his warm shoulder. He draws her legs higher across his lap, squirming until they're both comfortable.

"We'll still go to work, we'll just make stronger coffee."

"Mhmm, you'll make me multiple coffees."

"Don't I always?"

She smiles, using the closeness as an excuse to breathe him in. For a day, she'd sworn everything smelled and tasted like the river. He smells like him once again, which makes her feel better.

Smelling him instead of river water means they're here. It means the last few days are another ordeal survived. Another near death moment and major catastrophe averted. They really need to stop having so many of those.

"Do I smell?" he asks, tilting his head into hers. "I can change if I got too sweaty earlier."

"No, you smell good. Now start the show, I'm waiting."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm picking the right episode."

Her fingers slip underneath his shirt, nails scratching lightly at his belly. He grunts in response, his hips shifting under her legs, but it's not enough to entice him to turn off the TV and come back to bed. She promised him light, but she can recite stand-up comedy while they get naked if he wants to do things that way.

"Pick faster."

"Yes, dear."

She nips at his shoulder in retaliation. "Do not 'yes, dear,' me, Castle."

"Yes… love muffin."

"Blegh. Not if you want me to keep sitting here." She's smiling though, so he knows it's an idle threat. She's only been back at her place alone a few times in the last few weeks. Even then it's only been for a night or so.

He snickers, taking it upon himself to come up with half a dozen ridiculous nicknames for her, each one more terrible and over the top than the last, before he finishes choosing their episode. He finally shuts up when she lifts and presses an open-mouthed kiss on his lips.

Her tongue darts over his lower lip. "Stop talking, babe."

He lights up at that and it takes a moment before she realizes exactly what her overtired, smartass brain just let slip from her mouth. She's given him _so_ much ammunition now. It's too early for pet names, way, way too early, but somehow one silly four letter word has made him look at her like she's given him the sun. They're just four letters, not even the four she's waiting to say. Apparently, they're a good enough substitute.

"Start it already," she husks, settling her hand on his belly.

Indirectly or not, he knows how she feels, or he _should_ know. But if calling him babe helps make it clearer, then that's what she'll do.

"Uh uh, honeybun, you can't take that back. That's a keeper."

"Fine, keep it. Start your show." She waits until his finger is hovering over the button to say it again, "babe."

He shivers and she knows his glee is making it hard for him to start the show. Her nails gently stroking his belly probably don't help matters, but the combination has done wonders for the hurt, haunted look in his eyes.

She hates this show, but she knows it'll help him banish the rest of the shadows. For that reason, she'll watch with him.

She comes to sometime later, feeling the rumble of Castle's chest under her ear. He's talking? Who's he talking to? She yawns, patting his belly to remind him not to get too loud. She's sleeping. His chest bounces under her head in response. Great, he's laughing at her. She murmurs when his fingers come up, cupping her ear affectionately. She would say he has a fascination with her ear, but she knows she does it to him, too.

"See you later, pumpkin. We'll go to bed soon. After this episode."

Somehow, she musters enough energy to lift her head. Alexis is standing by the chair, dressed in her scrubs. She's looking down at them, her face simultaneously amused and concerned.

"Have a good shift, Alexis." She smiles tiredly at the young woman, earning a small smile in return.

"You, too. Don't let Dad get away with another episode."

"I won't. We're sleeping after this is over." If Alexis is going to work, they've already blown through their one or two episodes anyway.

Alexis nods. "Good. See you both later."

"See you," they echo together. She hides another yawn in his shirt.

"It's late, Castle. S'go to bed. We can finish this in the morning if you want."

"Really?"

"Mmm, yeah. Work's just paperwork until we get a call. Don't have to be in too early." Her hand flexes against his belly as she makes herself comfortable again.

"Kay, we'll sleep then," he agrees quietly, kissing her forehead. "I can sleep now."

"Good." She brushes her fingers over his ear tenderly. "Let's go then."

When they settle into bed, his hold is still a little tighter than usual, but she decides not to call him on it. It's relaxing. It'll help her sleep, too. Even underneath the heavy blanket, he's the one who helps her sleep.

They'll get through this, she knows. They'll get through the nightmares and whatever hurt feelings and uncertainty might remain. And they'll come out stronger for it.

* * *

><p>"Shit."<p>

She sighs, rubbing her hand over her face, probably smearing whatever's left of the day's makeup in hideous streaks. It's par for the course after the day she's had, though.

She's going to be late. First Gates wanted to debrief about their case – micromanage her progress or lack thereof is more like it – keeping her in her office long after she was supposed to clock out. Then she'd practically run to her appointment with Burke, only to find out he, too, was behind schedule. He'd been called in for an emergency consult with the 27th, but because she'd been with Gates and hadn't answered her phone, she also hadn't checked her voicemail until she was sitting in his office waiting.

It was a good session, though. At least she thinks it was. Burke is pleased with her progress. He's pleased with the way her relationship with Castle has evolved – the openness between them, he keeps adding every time she stammers a protest over talking about her sex life. They have a healthy sex life, thank you, and a healthy relationship, in spite of the issues she's still working through.

But now she's late for her date. Or she will be if this damn subway doesn't start moving soon. Castle's taking her out for dinner and dancing, and she has yet to shower, yet to do her hair, yet to take care of anything else; really she's done nothing. And she'll continue to do nothing if this bucket doesn't _move_. They closed the doors ten minutes ago and haven't gone anywhere since.

She has pretty underwear she wants to surprise him with, and she won't be able to keep it secret if he's crowding into her bedroom to watch her get dressed.

To top it off, there's no signal down here to tell him she's not going to make their rendezvous time. He won't mind, of course, but she does. They barely get the chance to relax together outside of the bedroom and stealing moments late at night, and she's been looking forward to tonight. He's had a few events lately and he's wanted her to come with him, but she's been working and he's had to go solo instead. She just wanted this night to go smoothly to make up for all of that. No murders, no exes, no panic attacks brought on by sleeplessness and an overload of caffeine like last week. Just them. Two people enjoying what Castle's promised will be a damn romantic evening together.

Her text must finally go through, because his response comes in as soon as the car starts to move. He's ready (of course he is; he left at 3:30 to finalize their plans) but he'll hold off on coming to her apartment for another half an hour. Of course with all the delays, he's still waiting for her when she does finally make it to her place. She runs in like a mad woman, but he seems content to read one of her novels on her couch.

"Hey," he greets, lowering the book onto his knee. "I let myself in, obviously. I wasn't sure how long ago you'd sent the text, so I took a gamble."

"Obviously," she echoes, dropping her keys onto the hall table, raking a hand through her hair. "Sorry," she sighs, though she's not really sure exactly why she's apologizing. She couldn't help this day.

Castle doesn't seem to know why she's apologizing either, because he cocks his head, smiling calmly. "Don't worry about it, Kate. We're okay." Good, he knows she wasn't snapping at him.

She smiles faintly, coming over to kiss him. The gentle press of his lips centers her; it helps to shake off the trials of the day. Whatever tightness that remained after her long day and her session with Burke is gone, replaced with powerful thuds of affection for the man who spends his days and his nights at her side.

"Mhmm, hi. I'm going to change and do something with my hair. How're we doing for time?"

"We're okay. Take your time. I already called and they're holding the table."

She feels her lips lift. "Thank you. I'll be quick."

He nods, thumbs brushing her hips. "Need a hand?"

"Nah uh. Hands and eyes to yourself for now. Stay put."

"Staying put."

She grins over her shoulder, wiggling her eyebrows quickly. He grins in return.

"Good choice."

The restaurant may be holding the table for them, but she doesn't dally. She moves as quickly as she can without cutting herself shaving in the sink, knocking her knees on the doorframes, or screwing up her makeup. Miraculously, she's even ready in under half an hour. She doesn't look half bad, if she's allowed to pat herself on the back for that.

If Castle's expression when she emerges from her bedroom is to be believed, he approves as well.

"I… wow. Kate."

"You like?" She twirls, giving him a little extra to observe. There's nothing exceedingly sexy about the dress. No plunging necklines or slinky, curve-hugging skirts. The neckline is relatively simple; it dips slightly and a decorative twist keeps her scar hidden. Castle may spend absurd amounts of time worshiping it, as if his mouth can wipe away the trauma, but she still isn't comfortable showing the world just yet. The skirt is perfect for dancing; simple, flowing, modest (but not _too_ modest, her goal was both classy and sexy). Castle's reaction tells her she's hit the mark.

"I-yes, yes I like. I like quite a bit."

His hands twitch at his sides, an indicator of his eagerness to touch her.

"Worth the wait?" She finds herself worrying her lip between her teeth, probably wrecking the lipstick she so carefully applied just a few minutes ago. Without meaning to get deep, she knows she's asking about more than him waiting for her to prep for their date.

Castle realizes the complexity of her question, too, because mere seconds pass before his hands are on her waist, dragging her close enough for their lips to connect. It's almost embarrassing how quickly the contact makes her knees go weak. It's all in the slow swipe of his tongue against hers, in the way he takes his time exploring every curve of her lips, every ridge of her teeth. She grips his arms, steadying herself as he ravages her mouth, clearly happy to show her how worth the wait it – she – really is.

She's panting when he pulls away, releasing his claim on her mouth with a pop. His eyes are glassy and she's willing to bet hers match. His thumbs brush her sides in tandem with their ragged breathing, earning a shiver.

"Always, Kate," he rasps, sending another roll of pleasure down to her toes. "Always worth it."

She surges against him, kissing him harder than before. Words may stay in her throat, but this she can do. She can pour her love and her gratitude into a kiss.

Their foreheads touch when their lips part. Sometimes this closeness is overwhelming; sometimes she can't help but need to shut her eyes to be able to process it all. They're _here_. They're doing this.

"Thank you," she breathes lamely, in case it really does need to be said. She thumbs his biceps through his shirt.

Castle shakes his head, hauling her into his embrace one more time. "Let's go dancing. I think we've earned that."

"Me, too," she murmurs, pulling away only to come back for another kiss. He's probably wearing more of her lipstick than she is, but she simply swipes at his lips to smooth away most of the color and lets it go. Lipstick isn't usually her thing anyway. "Let's go."

She gives him the satisfaction of locking the door behind them. His key isn't shiny or new – he's had it since before her panic attacks began to taper off – but he takes great pleasure in using it every time.

He looks proud, if not a little dazed, when she hooks her arm through his and asks if he's driving. Surprisingly, he shakes his head. "Walking, Beckett. We're not going far for dinner, or dancing."

Resting her cheek on his shoulder, she smiles. "Perfect."

He knows sometimes it's not the best idea to walk, not after difficult cases, but tonight she's too excited to let anything get in the way of strolling with him. This is probably her first chance to show him off, albeit to an unsuspecting world, but she's showing him off nonetheless. They aren't hiding, per say, but they're also not renting a marquee in Times Square and announcing anything to the world either. They don't walk into the precinct each morning holding hands, but she wouldn't scramble to get away from him if they were to run into Gates in a block or two. She hopes she wouldn't anyway.

"Thanks for tonight, Castle."

He doesn't respond, but she knows he's happy. There's a bounce in his step that only gets more pronounced the longer they walk. Her excitement grows, too, as what she's sure has to be their destination grows closer. The place used to be a dive, a spot on the sidewalk she often actively avoided thanks to her self-preservation instincts, but she'd noticed renovations start a few months ago and celebrated when it began to take shape into something attractive. She'd mentioned it to Castle one night over dinner. Apparently he hadn't just remembered her talking about it, he'd even checked it out. And now he's taking her there. Oh, she loves him.

She's glad her heels put her at nearly his height, because she's able to kiss his cheek without breaking their stride.

"Have you been already?"

"Of course not. But I went in when I picked up dinner the other night, just to check it out. You're gonna love it."

She squeezes his arm, feeling the words she thought just moments ago spring onto the tip of her tongue. She _wants_ to say them. There's no real, tangible reason to hold them back, but she still can't. Not yet. The superstitious side of her just won't let her yet.

"You scoped it out for me."

Castle just grins, holding the door for her. "See for yourself."

She steps in, reaching back for his hand immediately even as she scans the room. She loves it. She can't even put her finger on why. There's something striking about the entire place, from the music to the decorations – oh those curtains are to die for – without it being overdone or cheesy. Yeah, she loves it.

"You like?" he asks, echoing her words from earlier. Castle's lips trail over her ear, sending shivers down her arms. Her light shawl is no match for the feel of his mouth on her.

"I love," she breathes, twisting to kiss him slowly, firmly. "This is amazing, Castle. I love it. It's gorgeous in here."

She sniffs, hoping to ID the food style without having to ask. She recognizes some scents, but not all.

"Fusion," he explains. "The menu's eclectic, but it seemed like a good fit."

She inhales again, letting spices and joy infuse her lungs. "It's perfect."

It is a perfect fit. It feels like this place was designed to speak to her and entice her into breathing deeply and releasing any tension and worry she feels.

And Castle, Castle's looking at her like his every hope is coming true.

Her eyes narrow. He's set this up somehow. There's no way this place was like this before he got his hands on it. He has to have had a hand in it. Décor that speaks to her? Everything she likes?

"I didn't do anything," he says softly, somehow reading her mind as he lifts her knuckles to his mouth. "It was like this when I came in to check it out. I thought it was perfect, too."

Searching his face for signs that he's messing with her comes up empty. She knows he'd do it for her, but he also wouldn't lie to her about not having a hand in it. "It's fantastic, Castle. I just can't believe it's so… me? Does that make me sound self-absorbed?"

They squeeze each other's fingers quickly.

"Believe me, I _wish_ I'd thought of it. That'd be a hell of a present. But if it's good, I'm investing. Getting us a private table."

She rolls her eyes at that. "The restaurant business is tough, Castle. Be careful."

"It wouldn't be the worst thing I've spent my money on, Beckett."

"Ahh, yes, your moon property," she teases.

"Oh no, that's a solid investment. I was talking about the time I sent Patterson ten thousand rubber ducks to prove a point."

The laughter bubbles out of her before she can stop it. Of course he had. His fingers squeeze hers again.

"He wasn't as amused," he adds.

She leans into him, feeling his shoulders square with pride at her affection. Sweet man. "No, I don't think he really would be. What made you do that anyway? What point were you proving?"

Before he can answer, a fresh-faced young man about Alexis' age approaches them and greets Castle by name. He escorts them to the stairs (where Castle is all too happy to let her go ahead of him, a move she rewards by injecting a little extra sway to her hips as she climbs) and to their table in a comfortably lit corner of the restaurant. It overlooks a small stage and dance floor that she supposes will be their after dinner destination. It's perfect; dancing without the crush of sweaty, gross bodies. Probably better music, too.

Castle spots her looking. "They said it gets a little more crowded when the band goes on, but nothing insane. We said relaxing, remember?"

She leans across the table, cupping his jaw with soft palms. "I remember. It's perfect, Castle. I mean it. Thank you."

Their lips brush.

"Is Alexis working tonight?"

"You wait to ask me about my kid until I'm kissing you?" he grumbles good naturedly, leaning in for another easy kiss. It's all she can do not to grin against his mouth. "Yes, yes she's working with Lanie tonight."

"Good. Then I can take you home and not feel bad."

"Take me home?" he gasps. "Detective Beckett, what kind of boy do you take me for?"

Her fingertip traces his ear as she considers her answer. "The kind whose toes I'm going to make curl later."

His eyes darken immediately. "Is that a promise?"

She presses a kiss to that spot on his chin she loves. "Mhmm, it's a guarantee."

She feels him swallow. "And what about your toes? Will they be curling, too? Because I can help you with that. In fact," he adds, before she has the chance to answer, trailing his fingertips along the sensitive skin on the inside of her arm, "I am _quite_ adept at toe-curling. And I _insist_ I demonstrate for you."

"Mmm, I think I can find some use for your skills." She nips at his jaw quickly, straightening as their server approaches with two glasses of water. "Provided you finish your story."

Castle blinks and she's not sure if his confusion is lust-driven or due to her shift in topic. Maybe both.

She accepts her water with a grateful smile, sipping daintily as her partner collects himself enough to request a bottle of the best red they have and a sampler of every appetizer on the menu. When the young woman retreats, Castle looks proud of himself for getting himself together when he probably could've used a few more minutes.

"So? Story, Mr. Castle. I'm all ears," she purrs.

"I bet you are."

She flicks his ear with chilled fingers, grinning affectionately. Stubborn.

"Come on, finish the ducky story."

He opens his mouth, and whether it's to give in to her or stall some more, she's not sure.

"Actually, wait. Let me try."

She scoots forward in her seat when Castle acquiesces. Taking his hand, she turns it over to trace the lines on his palm. He has nice hands. Strong, careful hands.

"You were… fresh off another successful book release, not Derrick Storm just yet, but with it, you were finally earning the poker group's respect. You weren't the new kid anymore." She kisses the center of his palm quickly. "It was also post-divorce, pre-second marriage, so you were a little crazy. You played it faster and looser, hence your police horse escapades around that time." Her eyebrow arches a little, earning her a quick, almost uncomfortable smile in return.

"Alexis was still pretty little at this time and one night you were playing poker with your crew and Patterson challenged you to see how many rubber ducks you could get in one room after a story about watching Sesame Street with her. So you called your guy, because you even have one in a rubber duck factory, and the next day Patterson's hotel room was overrun with them."

She traces his heart line, carefully watching his face. He once profiled her so well she'd lost control of her emotions; she hopes she hasn't gone that far with him, that this isn't a sore subject. Generally, he's flippant about his divorces and his crazy schemes, but she won't continue if he looks like he's hating her game.

"It cost an arm and a leg, but cocky, young –"

"Hey!"

"-er, younger Ricky Castle didn't care. And Patterson even kept a handful of the ducks, giving Alexis a couple the next time he saw her. They're still on the shelf in her bathroom."

"Damn, you're good." He smiles, looking light again.

Her tongue flits out between her teeth. She's happy she hasn't overstepped. "Yeah?"

"Uh huh. Only it wasn't about Sesame Street. We were throwing around murder scene ideas and I suggested said rubber duck factory. Patterson thought it was ridiculous, so cocky, dead sexy, young_er_ Ricky showed him."

She grins. "Damn, so close."

His fingers close around hers as he leans in. "Close enough."

Their noses brush. "Yeah?"

"Uh huh," he puffs against her lips. "So do I get the pleasure of curling your toes tonight? I finished the story like you asked."

Her stomach flutters and she has to reign in the desire to drag him out before their wine even arrives. It's already been a good night, it can only get better.

"So you did." She squeezes his hand, letting their palms kiss even as their lips tease each other. "I'll allow it."

"Oh good. Curled toes for all tonight."

"Well, hopefully not all," she teases. "My room might get a little crowded and I'm not a sharer."

"Just with me?" He pecks carefully, rubbing his nose over hers.

"Mhmm, just with you."

He grins, kissing her fully. "Good, me too."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Once again, my apologies for a lack of personal replies to the last couple chapters - everyone _will _be getting them, I promise, they'll just be delayed. As I've said before, I'm absolutely blown away by the response to this story and I'm so glad everyone is enjoying it. Thank you to everyone!_


	8. That Couple

**Seeking Clarity**

**Chapter Eight - That Couple**

_Author's Note: Sorry about the wait, everyone! I needed a day to get things in order, but now we're back on track. Once again thank you to everyone for their support and their feedback!_

* * *

><p>She misses him. It's stupid, since he hasn't even been gone a full week yet and they've talked half a dozen times a day since he left, but she does. It's stupid because she should be happy for the chance to spend some time at her place alone, to reconnect with herself, but she just misses him instead.<p>

Damn that literary convention in Vegas. She knows he hadn't wanted to go, especially not so soon after the bombing stirred up her nightmares (and his own, if they're honest with each other) once more. He's been mum on the content of his dreams, but her nightmares are always of losing him to a bomb without having been brave enough to tell him how much she loves him. But still he went, and in spite of everything, he's been having a decent time as far as she can tell. Which is probably a terrible thing to be bothered by; she doesn't want him to be miserable, but it wouldn't hurt if he at least tried to pretend he's not living it up with his writer buddies on the Vegas Strip while she gets up in the middle of the night and has to make her own coffee before going to see yet another body.

Not to mention it's just _boring_ without him. He makes the stupidest things funny. He makes her day entirely too interesting. He makes the bad things seem better. And he's falling down on his job, damn it.

"Kate, are you listening to a word I'm saying?"

She blinks, trying to focus on Lanie's face across her kitchen island. Her friend shakes her head in exasperation; she's been preoccupied ever since Lanie arrived and it's obvious. Even pouring their wine was an ordeal thanks to her distraction.

"Sorry, sorry, I was just –"

"Thinking about Castle. I know, believe me."

She flushes. "Sorry."

"Sorry because you got caught daydreaming about him, or sorry because the man himself isn't sitting where I am?"

Rolling her eyes, she shifts on her feet. She won't confess to being _that_ bad. "I'm distracted and I'm sorry. More wine?"

"Uh huh. You've been moping for days and checking your phone all night. Expecting a call?"

She winces. She is, kind of. Castle always calls between his panels and dinner, right around this time. But she can't say that; Lanie still doesn't know about them. Unless she's figured it out on her own somehow or Alexis has told her. Nothing in the girl's demeanor suggests she's told anyone, except maybe her closest friends. Certainly nobody at work. She's sure she would've heard about it by now if Lanie already knew.

"No. Hoping I don't get a call, as a matter of fact. I need a break." She sips her wine, going for nonchalant.

"Kate."

"What?"

"Unless you've started using a different toothbrush in the morning and at night, you've been keeping secrets from me."

"I…" she trails off. As light as Lanie's words are, her tone suggests more than a little incredulity, and she's reminded of how little she's seen of her friend in so long. They've both been buried in casework lately. Plus, between Lanie's break up with Javi, her sessions with Burke, and now… Castle, they really _don't_ see each other outside of work anymore.

She can come clean. "Yes. I've… yes. Okay?"

"Yes you've been keeping secrets?"

"Uh huh." She swallows a large gulp of wine. "I'm…dating someone. Not Josh, before you ask. That's long, long done."

"Uh huh," Lanie echoes. "Last I heard he wasn't even in the country."

"Then you know more than I do."

Lanie rolls her eyes. "Quit stalling, Kate. You're dating someone."

"Yes. And that's his toothbrush," she explains needlessly. "Because he needed one some morning and I had a spare. And those are his shoes." She gestures with her chin. She'd almost tripped over them one morning after they hadn't made it to her bedroom to get undressed on their way in the previous night. Since then they've joined a small pile of her shoes by the door to keep them out of the way.

She takes a deep breath. "Plus, if you snoop through the laundry, I'm sure you'll find some of his stuff, too." Okay, now that one sounds big. The other things she can explain away, but that sounds so much more domestic than it should.

"And 'he' is?"

She tries to glare, but it gets lost when her phone chimes. A quick glance tells her it's Castle.

Lanie's eyebrow shoots up. They both know it'd probably be better if she just let her read the message, too, but she still pulls her phone closer protectively.

"Castle," she explains. She's trying for casual, but there's a breathy quality to her voice she just can't control.

"The guy or on the phone? What's he say about this mystery man of yours?"

She's able to school her face a little better this time. "On the phone. He's still at that thing in Vegas. I think he's finally bored."

"Bored, hmm?"

"What? He is. Or it seems like he is." She sighs, softly.

"You miss him."

She tries to scoff. "No. He hasn't even been gone a week, Lanie."

"Uh huh, less than a week is too long when you're crazy about each other. And for the record, Kate? I hope you do better in the box than you just did. I _know_ Castle's the owner of that pair of shiny, expensive loafers and that toothbrush in your bathroom. So don't even try to deny it."

"I… okay. How'd… how'd you know?"

Lanie looks triumphant. "Oh what? Was that supposed to be some big secret?"

"Yes? No, no. We just, we've been enjoying it without any big announcements. We have to keep it from Gates, but just… most people don't care, you know?"

Her friend looks dubious. "Most people don't care? Honey, people have been rooting for you two for _years_. The pools have had pools. Have you seen the way that man looks at you? He looks at you like you're some kind of goddess, Kate. He lo – "

"I know," she cuts her off quickly. She doesn't want to go there right now, not about her own feelings. Not before she even has the chance to tell Castle. "Lanie, I know he does. And I'm trying. I've been working for this. It's just easier when it's just the two of us."

Lanie rubs her hand quickly. "Kate."

"I haven't told him and he deserves to know before I tell others."

"Tell us… are you pregnant?"

She gawks. "What? No! Of course I'm not pregnant. Would I be drinking this wine if I were pregnant? I'm just… you know it's hard for me to talk about this stuff. And he's great, he's so great. He was being so patient – he still is. I just want to be in a good place not to screw it up when I say I –"

"Easy, easy hey. Why don't you start at the beginning? Dirty details first, then we'll tackle the touchy-feely stuff."

She laughs, patting her cheeks quickly. Lanie always knows just the right way to defuse the situation.

"Yeah, okay. Let me just send this and pour you another glass."

She bites her lip, trying to find the right balance of naughty, playful, and sincere under Lanie's scrutiny.

"You're blushing. Kate Beckett, are you sending dirty texts to your boyfriend in front of me?"

"Shut up."

"You are, aren't you? So when did you _start_? Seeing each other, not sending dirty texts."

"Ryan's wedding. Well, after the wedding. We went out, had dinner, a date. And then we… the first time a few weeks later. After everything that happened with the mayor and Laura Cambridge."

"Uh huh, and how is it?"

"Eh, you know. Not bad. Tab A, slot B. He gets the job done." She sips her wine, smothering a grin in the glass.

"You're funny."

"I think so." She leans against the counter, smirking. "He's very… focused when there's a task at hand, so to speak. Well equipped for it, too," she adds innocently, sipping again. She won't tell Lanie how his eyes lock on hers as their bodies join, or how every time they come together he's looking at her like she's something precious he never wants to lose.

"How well equipped?"

Trust Lanie to go straight there. She narrows her eyes, but her friend levels a stare right back.

"Well equipped."

"Sledgehammer? Framing hammer? Travel toolkit ball-peen hammer that he makes up for with dexterous fing –"

She throws the cork at her. "His _hammer_ is just fine, thanks. A normal, full-size toolbox hammer… that's made for larger hands and skilled workers."

Oh god, she didn't just say that. She hasn't had nearly enough wine to have these things coming out of her mouth. Somehow Lanie always works her magic, her evil, devil magic.

Lanie grins, pleased with the admission. "Good. I gotta say, I've never seen you so happy."

"Do not stare at his crotch the next time you see him, Lanie," she hisses. "Or I'll tell Espo what you said about his…hammer that time when you were drunk. Do you want to deal with that?"

Her friend narrows her eyes. "Cute, Kate Beckett."

"How is Espo anyway?" She straightens. "Is this week an on week or an off week?"

"Funny. So now that we've gotten the important things out of the way," Lanie pauses, tilting her head to look her over. "What's holding you back? Are you worried it's not going to work out?"

"It's not that. I'm, I mean I'm not _too_ worried about that. There's just so much to lose," she murmurs thoughtfully. "The night we… for the first time, he said he was afraid of jinxing things. Telling him makes it really real; what if it jinxes things?"

Lanie smiles softly. "Honey, it's already really real. It's you and Castle." She taps her hand. "Don't you think? How long were you with Josh? Close to a year?"

"Yeah."

"How often did your delicates mix in the laundry basket?"

She blinks. "They didn't. All that stuff was separate. I never said he couldn't… but it was easier that way."

"Uh huh. And I bet you and Castle take turns doing the laundry, and dinner, and the dishes, and dozens of other sickeningly sweet things, too, don't you?"

"…so?"

"So I think you're already ahead of the 'I love you's game."

She gawks at her friend.

"You're dealing with stuff, I get it. He gets it, too, I assume?"

She nods. "Yeah, he does. He knows everything."

More than Lanie herself, but after everything, she won't rub that in her friend's face.

"So then you tell him when you're ready. When whatever you're dealing with is under control and it doesn't feel like a jinx."

"And what if that takes longer than we expect? What if I can't? Do you know how many times I've chickened out already?"

"Kate. He dropped the annoying girl on each arm act and showed you the guy he really is how long ago? Do you really think the guy whose toothbrush is in your bathroom is going to care that you haven't worked through everything yet? It's okay to be scared. Don't you think maybe he's scared, too? That he's-"

Dual phone chimes cut off the rest of Lanie's sentence. From what she heard of it, her friend _does_ have a point. They sigh in unison.

"What are the odds they're calling us to the same place?"

"Guess we'll find out."

She answers quickly, giving her wine a remorseful look as she jots down the address dispatch rattles off. She shows it to Lanie, earning an affirmative nod in response. At least they can ride together.

"Be there ASAP."

She motions to her bedroom to indicate she's going to change into something warmer while Lanie wraps up the conversation on her end.

Somehow her phone ends up at her ear again, calling Castle. Apparently they're one of _those_ couples.

It take him a few rings but he finally picks up.

"Why Detective Beckett, I thought tonight was a no boys allowed event. To what do I owe the immense pleasure of this phone call?"

She rolls her eyes. Vegas is going to his head, bringing out his inner flirt.

"It was, but we got a call. Figured I'd tell you about it." Ugh, it sounds needy and pathetic to her own ears. But still, it delights Castle when she calls, even if he can't come to the scene, so maybe not so needy or pathetic. Maybe just inclusive.

"You did, huh? Are you at the scene? Describe it to me."

"I'm changing my clothes, Castle. I don't know what I'll be looking at until I get there."

"Oh, you're naked?"

"You wish."

"Half-naked?"

"Mmm, maybe. Why, getting tired of checkin' out the showgirls?"

"Showgirls, schmogirls."

She snorts. "Right. What're you doing?"

He clears his throat. "Me?"

"No, my other boyfriend. Yes, you. Are you behaving yourself? Because I love you, Castle, but you're on your own if you end up in the drunk tank in Vegas. Not even if you're dressed like Wayne Newton this time."

It's only when Castle makes a choked noise that her words dawn on her. Oh, shit. This is not how she wanted to tell him the first time. This is… no, no. It's supposed to be sweeter, actually romantic. Not this. _Dammit, Lanie._

"And here I was thinking you'd fly out to get me," he teases quietly, his voice thicker than normal. "Where's your crime scene, Detective?"

She tells him quietly, trying to gauge what he's feeling. "I'd invite you along, but _someone_ had to go to Vegas to rub elbows with authors for the week. And by the way, you better not be rubbing anything else with anyone else," she teases, knowing it sounds stupid as it comes out.

"Oh don't worry about me."

She sees Lanie lurking in the doorway and grabs her wallet. "I gotta go. We'll talk later."

"Mhmm, we will."

She hangs up, turning to Lanie. "Ready?"

"Ready. That your boy?"

She rolls her eyes. They're not twelve, no matter how much she feels like she is right now. "I called Castle, yes."

"And it sounds like you had quite the conversation."

Her friend looks innocent when she glances over. "You heard."

"I heard. Was that so hard?"

"That was terrible, Lanie," she insists. "That was the worst thing I could've done."

Lanie shakes her head, leading her out to her car before they can stall any longer. "There are plenty of worse things you could do. Don't freak out over nothing."

"That's not nothing."

"Yeah it is. Were you going to say it over rose petals and wine?"

"Well, no, but I wasn't going to tell him _that_ way."

She can feel Lanie's eye roll. "This is Castle we're talking about. He loved it. Just relax, honey. Relax and tell him the way you want to tell him when he gets back."

"And if I can't?" She drums on the wheel quickly.

"If you can't say it immediately, you don't have to. He's not going to expect you to meet him at the airport with it declared on a sign, Kate."

Well that's true. But they've been working so hard to actually _talk_ about things, not to sweep them under the rug. Isn't that a step backward? It's something she spends the entire drive to the crime scene contemplating. Lanie, thankfully, doesn't rib her further, even though she knows she's mentally laughing at her gaff.

She will make it up to Castle somehow. Even if she can't sit him down and tell him she loves him yet, she'll make it up to him. She offers the promise to Lanie as they leave her car; she can help keep her accountable.

As Castle's Ferrari comes speeding up to her crime scene less than twenty minutes after they arrive, Lanie helpfully points out that she'll get the chance to make it up to him sooner than she thinks. Castle looks like he's both exhausted and jazzed up as he saunters to them, extra swagger in his step. She can only gawk. What the hell? He's _supposed_ to be in Vegas.

Coward that she is, Lanie excuses herself quickly, making a beeline for the OCME van, but Castle's eyes barely flicker in her direction. Instead, he's locked in on her. A shiver climbs down her spine, but she manages to mask it by shifting her feet and looking him over.

"Either that was a short flight from Vegas, or you learned to teleport."

He laughs, every inch of him radiating joy. The joke wasn't that funny, she knows, so why's he – oh. Oh. Because she said –

"I was in the air already. WiFi in first class, Beckett, and the coolest app ever. I send an email, it comes up as a text for you. I put it on your phone before I left. And you called just as I was walking to baggage claim. I was going to go home and leave you to your girls night, but since you called I came here instead."

She ducks her head, hiding her smile and her red cheeks. He came straight here because she told him she loves him but she won't bail him out of jail. "You look tired, Castle. You sure you're up for this tonight?"

"This and more," his reply is light, but his eyes tell her everything else. She hides a shiver, clasping her hands together quickly.

"Yeah? Alright. Move, then." They share another grin. It's a giddy, childlike thing and she breaks one of her own rules by stretching up to kiss his cheek quickly. It's close enough to his mouth that she feels the upturn of his lips.

"Glad you're back, babe," she hums, squeezing his bicep on her way around him, ignoring the happy little noise he lets out before following her.

He's not all the way back, though. He catches hell from his agent when she finds out he left the convention early. Although from what he said, he'd already fulfilled all of his obligations. So she's not sure why he was required to stay, beyond the potential to be seen out and about living it up. As a punishment for bailing, Paula books him for more than a few gigs in the city. It means he has to duck out of their investigation, leaving her working with Detective Inspector Hunt. The man's nice enough, and she certainly understands the pain he's feeling, but it's strange working without her partner by her side.

She tries not to take it personally. In theory he did leave his job to fly home and surprise her. But she misses the way things usually are. And to top off his absences, when he is around, he regales the boys with tales of a chatty first class flight attendant he'd met on his flight home. Apparently, he picked the woman's brain about "procedure" and the woman had been more than happy to help. Of course she had.

It makes for good cover with the boys, she knows. If Castle brags about the attention, it casts attention away from the two of them, and the way her fingers keep itching to lock around his neck and drag him into a kiss. Unfortunately, the stories he tells also make her want to lock her hands around his neck for another reason. She tells herself it doesn't matter, however much truth or Castle embellishment there is to the tale. It doesn't. Women flirting with Castle isn't new. Besides, he's here, back in New York if not actually physically in the precinct. There's no reason to be annoyed. He's going home with _her_ once the case is over.

But in order to get this case closed, first she has to go to a party at the British Consulate. Without Castle. He's been informed of yet another work obligation. So once she changes out of her normal clothes and into this gown, he's going to be leaving the precinct and meeting Paula for that. He looks about has happy at the prospect as she feels.

"Hey, Castle?" She looks over her shoulder, holding the front of the dress over her chest. She has a feeling it's not going to fit right, but it's the first thing she'd grabbed in her closet that was both acceptable for the occasion and not something she might wear out with her partner.

"Yeah?" His eyes haven't left her since he used her black dress bag as cover to sneak into the locker room behind her. She's not sure what's on his mind, if he's worried about their killer being at this party, or about his own shindig later.

"Zip me up?"

Truthfully, she could've managed most of the zipper and only called on him to assist for the final portion, but the urge to have his hands on her is too strong.

She shivers at the first brush of his fingertips against her back. Maybe this isn't such a good idea. She's short on time and he's being so tantalizingly gentle. Touching first, then tugging the zipper a little higher, only to cap the dance off with a delicate kiss for every inch of ground covered.

"Cas-"

"Yo, Beckett, your ride's here. Are you almost ready?"

Espo and his timing. Thankfully he's not coming into the locker room, just yelling from the doorway like always, because there's no way to explain the way Castle's lips are curling against the bare skin on her back or the shortness of her breath besides the truth.

"Y-yeah, yeah. I'm almost ready. Be there in a few, Espo."

"Alright. Should I interrogate him like your dad on prom night? Cause that might be fun."

"Whatever, just give me a few more minutes. Shoo."

"'What are your intentions toward my boss' it is."

She and Castle exhale in tandem once the door taps shut. He finishes his task quickly, stealing a kiss from her shoulder before his arm winds around her, palm settling warmly on her belly. Why haven't they always gotten ready for undercover work this way?

"Rain check?" Her head lands against his cheek.

"Definitely."

"What time will you be done tonight?"

He thumbs her belly through her dress, tugging her back against him more. "Hopefully not too late."

Good.

She nods, kissing his chin quickly. Twisting away feels like torture, but she manages somehow. "Kay, how do I look?"

Her spin is slow, deliberate, giving him enough time to look her over. When his eyes slide over her chest, she can't help but want to cover up.

"It's not the best fit, I know. Didn't have time to get it tailored. But I thought the bra would help?" She touches the top quickly to make sure nothing's falling out or gaping unattractively.

Castle shakes his head rapidly. "No, no, no, you look great, Kate."

"But?" she adds, waiting for him to talk about whatever's put that slightly stunned look on his face.

His fingers brush the center of her chest.

Oh. The scar.

She covers his hand, pressing his knuckles against the mark.

"No buts." He kisses her fiercely, backing her against the lockers. "No buts at all. You look beautiful. So beautiful."

"I was going to cover it if it showed. I should cover it."

His hand moves over her side, palm settling at the exact spot of her incision.

"Don't cover it, Kate. Don't cover it. You look so sexy. Like a badass assassin on a mission to infiltrate the consulate, ready to take out anyone who gets in her way."

His kiss is soft, almost grateful, and she can't help but grip his jacket to keep him closer. God, she loves him. He's taken something he knows she's still self-conscious about and given her power over it. It's a scar. It's the remnant of an event that almost took her life, but with it she can be a warrior, an assassin, a champion, not a victim.

"Okay, I won't cover it up."

"Good."

* * *

><p>The second they set foot in the party, she knows things won't be going smoothly. It's not so much that Hunt's connections have them assuming the identities of two no-shows, it's not that her blood's still thrumming from the kiss Castle gave her before they parted ways, it's not even <em>what<em> she sees when she walks into the party on Colin Hunt's arm. It's _who_.

It only takes her three steps inside to spot familiar broad shoulders, the familiar back, and the ass that has no legal right to look that good in dress pants.

_What the hell?_

_This_ is his engagement?

She tries, she really does, to tear her eyes away from him before the raucous laughter – instigated by him, no doubt – ends. They're not supposed to know each other. Her entire body isn't supposed to cant in his direction. Plus, if he's here, someone _will_ inevitably recognize her as soon as they come within feet of each other and this entire thing will be blown.

"Over there," she mutters quickly, steering Hunt away from her partner just as Castle looks up. Instead of making it to the indicated corner, Hunt sweeps her out onto the dance floor.

"It's the best vantage point."

"Mhmm, so it is."

They make small talk as they dance, but with every twirl, she knows she's seeking out Castle. She's not sure if she's happy or sad to lose sight of him after a few minutes. She just hopes he's staying out of trouble, doing whatever it is Paula sent him here to do.

So she's sure he's off looking into something that's going to get him thrown out.

By mutual agreement, she and Hunt split up, allowing her to approach their person of interest, Nigel Wyndham, on her own. He's far more responsive this way, but so far, he's not giving up anything. No DNA, no fingerprint, nothing. She has to wonder if he's onto her. He has to be onto her to be this evasive.

And then it happens. Someone really does get onto them. She sees security tap on Hunt's shoulder just seconds before someone looks her way. She only has a few moments before she gets thrown out, too, and she turns on the charm.

Only to have a broad body shove into them, knocking them both off balance. In the collision, a cold drink topples down Wyndham's front, catching her dress as well. Wyndham reacts predictably; outraged, put out, and loud.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry. I'm so clumsy." The voice is familiar; of course it is. This is his play. "Let me clean that up." His hand disappears into his pocket, coming out with a handkerchief to do just that.

He dabs at the other man's jacket comically, apologizing for his stupidity in his public voice. Wyndham only suffers through it briefly before stepping back to go actually clean himself up, not bothering to excuse himself from their dance.

The owner of the drink turns on her, "I'm so sorry," he apologizes, eyes darting around the room. "Can I help you clean up this mess, Miss? Maybe somewhere other than the dance floor?"

He gestures toward a side exit. Perfect.

"That sounds wonderful, thank you, sir." She grabs his arm, letting him tug her aside just as security makes their way around the other dancers to the space they used to inhabit.

Once they're finally out of the building and ducking through the valet lot, he releases his grip on her hand, turning a sheepish smile on her. "Sorry to douse you in cognac."

Laughter flies from her lips. "You're forgiven Castle. Especially if you picked his pocket like I think you did."

"Detective Beckett, I'm appalled that you would suggest I'd use an honest mistake to cover up thievery."

She leans over, biting his lower lip gently as soon as they slide into the back of the town car he indicates is his. "Well didja?"

He brandishes the card case triumphantly. "How much do you want to bet his prints are all over this?"

Adrenaline from the last few minutes has her kissing him hard, sliding across the upholstery to settle in his lap. "How much do you want to get lucky before we get back to the precinct?"

"What about Hunt?" he squeaks, hands steadying her hips.

She fires off a text, advising the other cop where to meet them when he's no longer being detained by security.

"There, that'll buy us a few minutes."

"I'm gonna need more than just a few minutes to do all the good things I have planned for you."

Her hand combs through his hair, drawing him back in for an encore of their kiss from earlier. "Then just kiss me, Castle."

Their interlude is all-too brief before Hunt comes barreling up, indicating that the three of them are no longer welcome at the consulate. Oops. She tries to fix her hair and straighten her dress before the other man takes the seat on the opposite side of the car.

Castle's the first one to speak once they leave the grounds. He asks what Hunt found and once again proudly shows off his spoils. Her hand settles on his knee in the dark; he's earned his smugness tonight.

"So, Detective Inspector, think this'll help?"

A day later and the case is done. It feels good, being able to send Hunt back to Scotland Yard with answers, even if those answers don't make up for losing his friend. They're something, at least.

Now she's ready to get out of here. And she's ready to take her partner with her. As soon as he gets off the phone, that is.

Finally, Castle hangs up and returns to her. He had another engagement earlier in the day, smack in the middle of their takedown and interrogation, and she missed him. Hunt's a good cop, but bouncing theory off of him isn't the same.

"Hey," she greets, tossing a glance toward the captain's office before reaching for her partner's hand. "Can I buy you a drink, stranger?"

He looks tired, but he smiles softly. "I'd love that. Old Haunt?"

She thumbs his knuckles, tilting her head. What she really wants is to take him home, strip him down, finish what they started in the car the night before, and share drinks with him in bed afterward. But since they've barely seen each other apart from a few stolen moments, maybe getting their drinks in a public place will be better.

"Kay." She smiles, grabbing her coat. He takes it, helping her into it with sure fingers. "Let's do it."

Their fingers lace again on the way to the elevator, the sleeves on their coats covering most of the contact from prying eyes. The precinct's quiet, so she takes care to keep her voice down. "And if you're not too tired, I have a few plans for you after the drink."

She offers him a teasing grin. "Maybe in your office, hmm?"

Castle looks positively titillated. "I accept."

She laughs softly. "Good. I'm glad I offered, then."

As soon as the elevator doors close on them, her head lands on his shoulder. "So, I never asked last night, but what the hell were you doing at the consulate anyway?"

Castle's chuckle jostles her. "It turns out one of the guests there was only in town for two days and he is a _huge_ Derrick Storm fan. So he wanted to meet me. He practically begged Black Pawn to arrange it."

She grins, squeezing his hand. "Aww, that's so cute. You have an admirer, Castle. Should I be worried he's going to steal you from me?"

His lips slide over her head just as the doors open once more. "Never, Beckett. Not even for all the checks from adoring fans with many, many zeroes on the amount line in the world."

Pursing her lips doesn't help smother her laughter. So they really are _that_ couple.

That's okay.


	9. The Block

**Seeking Clarity**

**Chapter Nine - The Block**

* * *

><p>He has writer's block.<p>

He has for weeks. Since Vegas at least, if not longer.

He won't admit that he's blocked, but she sees the frustration on his face when he sits at his desk for hours in the evening and has nothing to show for it. What he does write, he doesn't like, so most of the time he stalks around avoiding his laptop entirely. She tries to help where she can, offering to tell him stories about cases she worked before he joined the team. They make him smile, fascinate him, sometimes even make him laugh at her expense. One particularly tough story causes him to hold her half the night, whispering into her skin. But as nice as her stories are to him, they don't seem to help him write.

They've never made it through so many shows on Netflix in such a short time.

For once, she's grateful to have a lull in casework in exchange for trial prep. It means she leaves work at a normal time and grocery shops (as much as she hates that) for meals to cook them. She's making it her mission to take care of him the way he took care of her after last summer, the way he takes care of her every day.

"Hey, Castle," she greets, stepping into the loft with tonight's dinner bags. "It's boring around the precinct. Gates looked like she missed you today. You should come in tomorrow." It's the answer to the question he asks every day he doesn't come in: Does Gates miss him yet?

When she doesn't get a response, she glances into his office to find him dozing at his desk, head resting on his folded arms. Poor Castle. This block has been keeping him awake at night. She knows she needs to wake him soon, otherwise he'll never start sleeping normally again, but she decides to start dinner before she does that. Give him a few more minutes of needed rest.

Before she does any of that, though she abandons the bags on the counter and slips out of her shoes. Her socks whisper against the floor as she creeps into his office with her phone drawn, ready to take a picture of him. For posterity. Because he looks like a little boy when he sleeps and it's adorable.

After a quick glance around the loft, she still has no idea if Martha and Alexis are home and she won't call upstairs or resort to texting them both just to find out. She bought enough to feed everyone, though, so she'll cook it all just in case. If there are leftovers then they can eat when they get home, or she'll take some to work in the morning. She's just pouring the marinade onto their skirt steak when her partner comes lumbering into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

"Hey, sleeping beauty." Her fingers itch to smooth his hair down. It's everywhere.

His smile breaks through the yawn. "Beckett! Hey! What're you making?"

She crooks her finger, enticing him to get closer. "Trying that steak recipe you showed me the other night."

Leaning across the counter, she cups his face between her hands. She waits until his sleepy eyes focus on hers to draw him closer, kissing him softly. He hums thoughtfully, palms flat on the marble. His nose brushes hers as he relaxes into the affection.

"Mhmm, I could get used to waking up like this."

"You mean you haven't already?" She lifts an eyebrow. They _have_ been sleeping together for a while now. It's more startling when they _don't_ wake up to soft smiles and lazy kisses.

"Mornings are different. I meant nap time."

"Brainstorming time, you mean." She steals another kiss, thumbing his jawline gently. He's prickly and it sends little sparks through her fingers.

"Right, yes." He doesn't elaborate on the results of his 'brainstorming time' – if there are any – and she doesn't push him to. Instead, he smiles his easy smile, the one that says he's trying to let all of this roll off his back. "Can I do anything?"

"Want to make garlic bread?" She cocks her head, backing away from the counter in invitation. "I bought cheese, too. If you want cheesy garlic bread."

There's nothing seductive about the offer, and definitely nothing seductive about the way she says it, but before she can blink, he's rounded the counter and has her pinned. Oh _now_ someone's awake.

"I didn't know cheese got you so hot, Castle," she teases, her arms skimming his waist. She laces her fingers, pressing her hands into his lower back to keep him from going anywhere.

He grins, nipping at her lips. She groans softly, pulling him closer.

"Not the cheese, Beckett. Not the cheese at all."

"It's not?"

"Mmm nope."

"What is it, then?" she pants. How'd he manage to get to her so quickly? Aren't there rules about this?

"It's the woman giving me free reign with the cheese." He grins again, kissing her thoroughly before he steps back, breaking through her limp fingers easily. The tease. "Cheese bread it is!"

"Uh huh. You start that. We can eat it while we wait for the meat."

She leans her elbows against the counter, watching him crack his knuckles in preparation for his culinary masterpiece. His t-shirt slides deliciously over his back making it impossible for her to resist leaning over and kissing his shoulder. No man should look this delectable in a V-neck and gray lounge pants. When he doesn't respond to her first touch, her hand slides down his back and over the curve of his rear.

He jumps. Her name comes out breathless and scandalized, which only fuels her laughter.

"It's like you've never had a woman grope you before," she hums against his neck, nuzzling behind his ear. "So much for being a ladies man."

"Hard to be a ladies man when you're a one lady man," he reminds her softly. It's so sweet and sincere, she has to kiss his shoulder again.

"I know, Castle. I'm just messing with you."

"In more ways than one," he huffs. His shoulders square under her lips.

She wraps her arm around his waist, settling her wandering hand on his belly in reasonably safe territory. If she wants to drive him crazy, she can dip her fingers just a little bit.

"Hey Dad!"

Her hand moves higher, into very safe territory, as Alexis comes sliding downstairs. The teenager doesn't hesitate when she sees her, so she doesn't think she needs to move for now. She doesn't want to move; Castle's back is warm against her cheek.

"Hey, Daughter. Beckett tackled dinner tonight. Are you in?" The rumble of his words hum across her face. He sounds so proud of her, just for starting their dinner.

"I'm in. I'm not working until tomorrow night. We have a graduation information meeting tomorrow morning."

"Ahh, good. Tonight's menu consists of steak, cheesy garlic bread, and of course, ice cream."

Alexis smiles quickly. "Sounds great, let me know if I need to do anything"

"We're just waiting for the meat to marinate a little bit, but I will," she says quietly, patting Castle's belly and pulling away. Alexis looks like she has something on her mind, something she probably doesn't want to say while her father's girlfriend cuddles him at the very least.

Castle smiles, offering his daughter the garlic. "Do the honors?"

The girl nods, scooting to stand beside her father. She sprinkles the finely chopped garlic over the bread without comment. Alexis hasn't cooked with them often, but even she knows this demeanor is unusual. Luckily Castle notices too, and he cocks his head thoughtfully.

"What's on your mind, pumpkin?"

Alexis looks up quickly. "Have you been getting the mail?"

Something similar to guilt flashes across Castle's face, but he smothers it before Alexis can notice.

"Uh huh, I've been getting it." He looks away, grabbing the cheese to start sprinkling it over the bread. It's clearly a stalling tactic. Does he think she won't notice?

"Has anything come for me?"

She sees the hope all over Alexis' face and sighs when Castle clearly fibs to his daughter. Why is he keeping his daughter's mail from her?

"Are you still waiting for word about your applications?" She looks between the Castles. Alexis nods, her shoulders slumping.

"Everyone I know has heard back already and it's driving me crazy. Shouldn't I have at least heard _something_?"

"I'm sure you'll hear something soon," she assures, shooting a careful look at her partner. "They do everything in waves, if I remember right, and they're not always first come first serve. You'll hear something soon."

"Can I quote you on that?"

"Sure you can." She surprises herself when she reaches over and rubs the teenager's shoulder. She and Alexis aren't usually very touchy. "You're going to hear soon, and it'll be good news."

"Thanks," she sighs. "See what I mean about it making me crazy?"

"I've been there, believe me. I was so nervous I picked fights with anyone who looked at me sideways. My mom… she played peacemaker between me and my dad so many times," she pauses, shaking her head at her seventeen year old self. "It's normal, I promise."

"It doesn't feel normal."

"I know. It feels like you're losing your mind slowly." She smiles sympathetically. "But once you hear something, everything will settle back into place."

"Yeah it does." Alexis sighs again. "I hope you're right."

"Why don't I get water for the three of us, and if your dad's okay with it, we can open some wine with dinner?" she volunteers, pinching Castle's side on her way to the fridge. He's hiding Alexis' mail, and she will find out why. "Then we can talk more about these applications."

"Sure. Dad, do you mind? About the wine? I won't have much."

Castle smiles softly. "No, pumpkin, I don't mind. And Kate's right. You'll hear something soon."

Alexis exhales, slumping into her father's arm. "Thanks, Dad."

Castle's arm winds around his daughter, squeezing her tightly. It seems to be enough to relax Alexis for now.

Martha breezes in and breezes back out again while they're eating, stopping onto to change her clothes and drop kisses on all of their cheeks. She has a date to a show, and that's all Castle lets her say before shooing her out the door.

"I'm sure we'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning, Mother."

She waves over her shoulder dismissively. "You say that like I'm a deviant, Richard."

"Well aren't you?" he calls, yelping when the women on either side of him nudge his shin simultaneously.

Martha chuckles. "Looks like you're outvoted, darling. See you later."

"Good night, Mother."

"Good night, Martha," she calls, too.

Alexis retires to bed relatively early once the dinner dishes are done and there's nothing left to do but recline on the couch and read, citing her early morning senior class meeting. She hopes the girl doesn't think she needs to make herself scarce for the two of them, but it could be a blessing in disguise; it does give them the opportunity to talk about earlier.

"What'd you do?"

Castle looks over innocently, his fingers stilling on her ankle.

"Kate –"

She fixes him with a look. "Castle, detective here. Don't even try. What'd you do? I saw your face when she asked if anything came in the mail for her."

He sighs. "I'm trying to spare her."

"By hiding her mail?" She lifts an eyebrow. "Castle," she chides, sliding her hand into his hair. Maybe she can massage away the tension he can't quite release and make him think clearly again. "Babe, if she gets bad news, she gets bad news. You can't hold onto her mail forever to keep that from happening."

"I know, but I don't want what happened with Stanford to happen again. Her hopes were so high and they just _crushed_ them."

Misguided as his reasons are, they're still sweet. His heart is in the right place. "I know, Castle, but if you hold onto them for too long, Alexis could miss important deadlines and miss out on more than just early admission. So give your daughter her mail, okay? And just be there when she opens them. Like you always are."

She punctuates her order with a kiss, resting her chin on his arm. "She's going to have to make her own choices, Rick. Let her have all the options to make the best decision she can."

Her nails tease against his scalp. It's an attempt to pamper him into submission if her words don't work. Whether it's her words or her fingers, she's not sure, but something gets through to him. He sighs.

"You're right. And I will. I'm going to give them to her."

"Tomorrow?" She won't let him put it off.

He slumps a little, looking more like a chastised child than a grown man. "Tomorrow, okay."

She rubs his chest soothingly, trying to ease the sting for him. "It'll be a good thing. Something for the two of you to do together that doesn't involve playing games."

He pouts at that, too. "But I like playing games with her."

"And I'm not saying you have to stop," she murmurs, rubbing his chest again. "But hey, you've been pretty hands off with this whole college thing, haven't you? Your mom's gone on tours with her, she's gone on tours with her friends… don't you want to be a part of the final decision process with her?"

"Of course I do." He looks almost offended. "I was trying to give her space, respect her independence. That's what everyone – you included – _told_ me to do."

"Hey, hey, and you've done great. You have. I'm not saying you did it wrong, I'm just… I'm saying now's the time she's going to want you to offer to tell her every random fact you know about every school she's considering. Once she knows whether or not she got in," she adds softly, bringing things back around to the original issue.

Her hand brushes his jaw, fingers pressing gently to make him relax. His head twists, lips pressing against the tip of her thumb.

"I wish you wouldn't always be so reasonable," he grumbles finally.

Now that is funny. "Castle, you and I both know the last thing I am is _always_ reasonable. Mostly reasonable, though," she trails off, lurching forward to kiss him. "I can do mostly reasonable."

"Mostly reasonable, then."

"Mmm, I'll keep that in mind." She squeezes his neck. There's more she wants to talk about, but she worries he'll think she's ganging up on him if she brings it up right now. Of course if she waits, it'll be just as difficult, won't it?

"Castle?" She hums a few minutes later, deciding to bite the bullet and get things over with.

"Mmm?" He looks over, eyes still cloudy with defeat. She knows this isn't just about Alexis; she's seen him when he's worried about Alexis. This is different, worrisome. Was this the way it was before? When he had writer's block with Derrick Storm?

"Wanna talk about it?"

"We are talking about it, aren't we? We're talking about Alexis and her college mail."

She sits up a little. Burke reminds her every session to open up to the people in her life. She opens up to the boys, to Lanie, especially to Castle – or she tries, she really does. But the more she opens up, the more she notices when he doesn't. Sometimes he's an open book and sometimes he can be just as guarded as she can.

"About what _else_ is bothering you. You're blocked and I'm apparently not helping. Some muse, huh?" She quirks a self-deprecating smile. It's supposed to sound like a joke, but Castle doesn't take it that way.

He shakes his head rapidly. "No, no, no. Don't think that, Beckett. Don't think that at all. You help so much more than you know."

She swallows hard, all joking aside. He's helped her more than he knows. Not just this year, he's helped her for over a dozen years. It's hard to believe she's done even a fraction of that for him. But this isn't about her and she won't make it about her.

"This happens sometimes. I get everything on the page and then it all just… stops for a little while."

His fingers find hers, squeezing tightly.

"But even when the words don't come, you're still inspiring me."

His lips land warmly on her knuckles.

"I am?" She lifts her head, eyebrows raised.

"You are," he confirms. "And the words will come back, Kate. Don't worry, please. This is a pause, not an ending."

"Not like it was before we met? With Derrick Storm?" It comes out smaller than she ever intends for him to hear.

He shakes his head and everything in her relaxes. Oh god, she's been trying not to admit to worrying about this for days; worrying that, somehow, getting the girl and having the muse mystery revealed to him has been the thing that's ruined his work.

"Not at all like that, Kate. Not at all." He kisses her knuckles again, pressing his lips to each finger deliberately.

"So how," she stops to clear her throat. "How do you get your groove back?"

"Are you saying I'm Stella or Kuzco?"

She giggles softly, kissing his arm. "You would know both those references."

The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. "I just have to wait. Use my endless, careful patience, and trust in the unive- hey are you mocking me?"

She hides another relieved giggle in his arm. "Oh no, not even close. You're most definitely known for your patience, Castle."

"I'm patient when it counts," he insists, squeezing her ankle.

Okay, he has her there. He's incredibly patient with her and he has been for so long. He's still patient with her, waiting for the last of her wall to capsize under their combined demolition efforts.

"You're right, you are patient when it counts." She exhales, rubbing his arm. "Okay, come on, I have an idea."

She squirms away from him, popping up with energy she isn't sure she really has. She'll make herself have the energy for him. He deserves this. For all the times he's picked her up after crappy days, and all the times he's given her insight when she's hit a wall, he deserves this.

"Wait, where are we going? I thought we were reading tonight?" Castle looks confused and utterly intrigued. She grins.

"We're gonna do this like cops," she explains, knowing that'll pique his interest. "We're canvassing for your words. I think the coffee shop on the corner might be a good place to start?" She offers her hand to him, wiggling her fingers expectantly.

"And then we'll come back and your muse will give you another round of inspiration."

He wiggles his eyebrows. "I think we can make it two or more rounds, personally. _If_ my muse is up for it, of course."

"Oh-ho, ambitious," she teases, hauling him into a slow, playful kiss. "Get your shoes, let's go. We'll see how many rounds you're up for later, Mr. Castle."

"I like to aim high." He shrugs, smirk never leaving his lips as he lets her tug him through the loft. She checks for her phone and her keys, even though this is _his_ place they'll be returning to at the end of their walk.

"Come on, let's aim for words first."

* * *

><p>Just once, she wishes she could plan something that doesn't backfire on her.<p>

This isn't what she hoped for when she made the split second decision to help him try to find his words. She'd expected to go to bed alone, naked, satiated and falling asleep wrapped in his sinful sheets while he barricaded himself in his office after being struck by a lightning bolt of inspiration. Instead, they passed out together in a heap of tangled limbs (not a bad thing at all, of course) no words to be found. Now, two days later, she's watching him try to schmooze _Slaughter_ of all cops because somehow the man has caught his interest.

And it seems like he's jumped in with both feet. It doesn't escape her notice that Slaughter's wearing her partner's leather jacket, Castle's _gift_ to get him to agree to this ridiculous stunt, probably. She has no idea exactly what happened during their "takedown" in that bar, beyond hearing scraps of the conversation, but her heart still hasn't stopped thundering at the sight of Castle's blood. God, he could have a broken nose and he's acting like a ten year old running around to keep up with the self-proclaimed "cool kid" in the neighborhood. He's brushed off her offer of ice once already, but as soon as she gets the chance, she'll be pressing a compress to his face.

Severed heads? _Really_?

Finally, Slaughter disappears to do God knows what, and her hand is able to catch her partner's elbow and pull. It catches him off-balance, but other than a startled squawk, he doesn't say a word. At least he's picked up on her mood. Smart man.

"You need ice, Castle. Your nose is swelling and I'm not going to listen to you snore all night."

It's sharper than she means it to be, but his adrenaline and bravado-laced assertion that she never gives him the chance to take care of himself, and by extension them, still stings. How many times has he been the one holding her up? He _knows_ that. Thankfully, he doesn't fight her this time. Instead, he simply allows her to nudge him onto a stool in the break room and make an ice pack.

The cold manages to sap some of her frustration, but she still finds herself taking a deep breath before returning to him. She swats his hands away from his face in favor of invading his personal space to hold the ice pack for him.

Their eyes lock, but neither of them seem to want to speak.

"He's going to get you killed if you're not careful," she murmurs finally, licking her lips. "Please don't get killed." Her thumb dusts over his lip under the guise of adjusting the ice pack. She's breaking so many rules today, but she doesn't care.

"I won't, Beckett. I won't." His hands land on her hips, another gesture that's far outside their typical rules. She steps closer to him anyway, fitting her hips in between his knees. "It's not as bad as you think, Beckett."

She knows he thinks she's overreacting by the upturn of his lips underneath the ice. He doesn't know how Slaughter really is, and no amount of trying to explain it to him will change his mind. She knows that much about _him._

"He's gonna bitch and moan if I step in, but just… keep asking the guys, okay? I'll make sure they agree. And you call me the second he gets out of hand. Well, more out of hand than he already is."

Thankfully, Castle agrees without protest.

Their reprieve from the other detective is unfortunately short-lived. When she sees Slaughter roaming her precinct again a few minutes later, she knows it's time to cut Castle free. The last thing she wants is the detective with all the social graces of a wild boar to thunder into her break room and bust the two of them for their less than partner-ly position. He'd have no problem going straight to the Chief of Detectives with that one. Never mind his own "stellar" reputation.

She removes the ice and presses her mouth to Castle's quickly. His cold nose bumps hers. "He's back, guess you better go." She doesn't want him to go. Not if he's going off with Slaughter. Part of her wonders if she could entice him to stay with a trip down to archives or through the evidence storage rooms. Maybe one of those destinations would spark his creativity, but she doesn't offer. He's already standing, anyway.

Castle smiles, though his enthusiasm seems to have dimmed. If she weren't worried the next phone call she gets might be from the hospital, she would feel bad about quashing his pep. "I'll see you later? Dinner at the loft?"

That sounds promising. He's planning to make it through the day. "Sure. What're you making me?"

"The Castle Special, of course."

"Oh, of course." It's less playful than she means for it to be, but she can't help it.

He smiles anyway, lifting his hand to wave before practically running into Slaughter on the way out of the room. It's obvious Slaughter says something that agitates him, but she can't see his mouth clearly enough to know what it is.

She watches them go, frowning when her partner casts a long look at Ryan and Esposito. The boys look back, unimpressed. They're probably more upset about him hanging around with Slaughter than she is. She's just worried. Slaughter clearly has no problem putting a partner at risk and the last thing she wants is to lose hers.

After spending all day doing both her job and the boring cop side of Slaughter's in an attempt to keep Castle from getting killed, she's actually happy to duck out of work for her weekly appointment with Burke. Without consciously thinking about it, she's prepared a list of things she needs to talk through with him. So many things, in fact, that their session runs over and makes her late getting to the loft. Judging by Castle's rapid-fire, slurred voicemail, he wouldn't have been in any shape to notice even if she'd been on time, though.

She keeps her phone off during her therapy appointments, but the time stamp on the message suggests he called at or around the same time the conversation with Burke turned to him and her concerns over his recent troubles. According to the message, he and Slaughter went for drinks – to celebrate his first day on the job with him, a feat a few hadn't managed – and he's reasonably sure Slaughter got him drunk on purpose. (No shit, Castle.) _But_, he made sure to add, Slaughter doesn't suspect anything about them; he still wants in her pants. (Doesn't she feel better?)

Oh and he – Castle, he made sure to emphasize, just in case the pronoun confused her as much as it confused him – loves her.

It's the first time he's said it in months. The first time she's been ready to hear it and say it back, and he says it in a drunk dial. Fantastic. If Burke hadn't already been with another patient, she would've found herself back in his chair to talk about that, too.

The logical part of her brain says it's not the end of the world, but damn if right now she doesn't feel like it is. She wasn't lying when she told Castle she's not always the reasonable one. It just hurts, probably more than it should, not having had the chance to hear the words again in a happy situation. She wants a happy situation. Not a fight, not when one of them is hurt, not a drunk dial. A happy occasion.

Martha lets her in when she knocks. They share a look as soon as she steps inside. She shouldn't be happy Martha has noticed, too, but she is. Together, they can figure out if this is as big a problem as her nervous mind is making it out to be.

"Is he here, Martha?"

The older woman nods, gesturing with her thumb to where Rick is sprawled, face down, on the couch. Passed out. Great. In fact, he's sleeping like he hasn't slept in days. Oh, and he's snoring. Loudly. Exactly the way she expected him to be, thanks to the hit he took earlier.

She sighs.

"Have you and Alexis eaten? Sleeping beauty over there promised me dinner, but it looks like we're on our own."

Martha pats her arm. "It's already on its way, darling. And although I didn't talk to him, I had a feeling you were coming over, so don't worry. We ordered plenty. In fact, you go change and make yourself comfortable and then we can talk about Richard and whatever this is." Martha waves her hand for emphasis.

She's being steamrolled, but she won't say no to Martha. She's never been able to say no to her, but she especially can't say no now.

"In that case, I'll be right out." She rubs Martha's arm quickly. "By the way, what'd you order? Not that I'm feeling picky tonight, I'm just curious."

She doesn't bother whispering. Castle hasn't stirred since she walked in; she's not too concerned about waking him with conversation.

"Italian from that lovely little joint down the street."

"Mhmm, delicious. Castle took me there last week. Thank you, Martha." She punctuates it with a small smile.

A few minutes later, she and Martha are settled at the counter. Martha has a glass of wine, but she's opted for water. If she ends up talking to Castle about Slaughter or his message tonight, she wants a clear head.

She waves when Alexis pads downstairs. The teenager looks at her father and then back at them.

"Food's on its way up," she explains, patting the counter and beckoning Alexis closer. "He gets whatever's left. How was your shift?"

"It was good." Alexis glances again, seemingly preoccupied with her father's snoring. "Did you two have a fight?"

"No, no. We didn't have a fight. Everything is fine with us. He was… working with another detective today. I guess they got along." She won't mention the writer's block to Alexis yet. The girl has probably already noticed, but there's no point in bringing up everything at once.

Alexis snorts. "Yeah, a little too well it looks like."

"No kidding." She shakes her head. Alexis has that right. "He'll regret that when he wakes up in the morning. Or later."

"That?" Alexis tilts her head in her father's direction. "Or working with another detective?"

"That. If he wants to work with someone else, or needs to for the book, I don't blame him."

It's not exactly the truth, but Castle's daughter doesn't need to hear the doubt she expressed to her therapist earlier in the day. The doubt and the worry that, despite his assurances, this writer's block of his _is_ at least partially her fault. She worries Slaughter is just the first in what could be a long line of new sources of inspiration. And if he doesn't need inspiration anymore, she worries what that will do to them.

Of course, if his drunken phone call is to be believed, she's concerned for no reason, but she can't help but worry.

"He needs to do what helps him get his work done, but it would be nice if he did it without day drinking," she adds, biting her lip. Her dad's been fine for a long time, but it's still touchy for her sometimes and she knows it. She doesn't want to put her issues on Castle, but she also won't ignore them in case this gets bigger.

"Will you talk to him?" Alexis looks worried, too. "About… this… and about why he's not writing?" She must look surprised, but the girl simply shakes her head. "He gets… weird when he can't write."

It's easy to forget that his daughter has seen him through another writing drought. Maybe more than one.

"I will. I'd already planned to," she promises.

Alexis exhales. "Thank you. I know he's not bad right now and even if he got crazier, it'd be okay because he has you, but it just… it worries me. I don't like the thought of leaving him when he's like this. If I leave him. There was still no mail today, so who knows what I'll be doing."

Martha's hand beats hers to smooth the girl's hair back. It's only when Castle's mother sends her an odd glance that she gets it; Martha knows about Castle's little mail hiding scam. And with no mail again, that means her partner _still _hasn't given his daughter the letters like he promised he would.

She reaches over, squeezing the girl's hand. "I promise, Alexis, your dad's not going to be doing anything crazy this time. No matter what you decide to do _when_ you get in everywhere."

Alexis and Martha look grateful. While it is humbling to have this much of their trust, it also sends shreds of terror down her back. What if she fails? What if she can't be what Castle needs to keep him off his ledges when it takes so much work to stay away from her own?

This is why she hesitated for so long, isn't it? Part of it anyway? And she has more than just the two of them to consider, too. She has his mother looking to her, his daughter.

"Thanks, Kate," Alexis says, using her name for the first time in a long time. She's been 'Beckett' or 'Detective' for so long; it warms her to finally be Kate to the girl.

"Any time, Alexis. Any time." She exhales the way Dr. Burke always reminds her to, letting go of the stress slowly.

The buzzer sounds, startling everyone but the man still passed out on the couch. Castle sleeps on, oblivious. Part of her considers taking his shoes off and making him comfortable while the others get their food, but she's leaning toward leaving him the way he is.

It's probably overstepping, but she also considers grabbing the mail her partner's been hoarding. She can be there if Alexis gets bad news, and Castle can still be there to help the girl decide when everything comes up rosy.

Martha catches her eye again, mouthing "desk" to her and nodding. Good, she has her partner's mother's approval to do it.

She sends a quick look at Castle before she disappears into his office. From this angle the light catches a thin line of drool trailing across the couch from his mouth. Oh gross, Castle.

After grabbing the envelopes, she gives in to the urge to make him comfortable and detours to the couch to take his shoes and his socks off. Said sock is what she uses to swipe at the puddle of drool. She takes a moment to look him over for further damage. He has dark smudges under his eyes, but that could be from lack of sleep instead of the punch. Otherwise he looks unharmed. Which is good, because the urge to slug Slaughter is still there. Whatever he was drinking earlier is still on his breath and it nearly knocks her back.

Jesus, Slaughter must've been plying him with the cheapest liquor in the bar. From the smell it seems like it was one step above rubbing alcohol.

Still, she kisses Castle's forehead, unable to avoid wrinkling her nose at his sleep sweat. Assuming he wakes up before she falls asleep, she's going to make him shower before coming to bed with her.

"For the record, Castle," she whispers, making sure he's not awake before finishing her thought, "I love you, too." She pulls away before she can tell if her words reach him in any significant way. "And we _will_ be talking about this soon."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Sorry for another short wait, everyone. RL intervenes in odd ways sometimes. Thank you again to everyone for being so fantastic about this story. We're coming up to the final stretch and I can't wait to share it with you all!_


	10. Found

**Seeking Clarity**

**Chapter Ten - Found**

* * *

><p>She pushes herself up with a groan.<p>

The sun streaming through her bedroom window tells her it's much, _much_ later than her usual wake up. Yes, it was a late night, but her body generally won't let her sleep like this anymore.

She's earned this day off. Yesterday was insane. She'd arrived at a crime scene before dawn, managed to be a gracious host for Castle's poker game while Martha took over the loft for yet another class, and somehow still stayed up late with him after his group left.

Her heart still pounds with pride at the knowledge of exactly _who_ she had playing poker in her home. Not just that, Castle's friends like her. Patterson likes her. Connelly, too. Alex Conrad likes her, too, but that she's known. It was good to see him again. It was _also_ fun to hear about their upcoming projects. She's not at liberty to discuss anything (although besides maybe her father, Castle's the only one she would tell), which makes it even better.

And if she's honest, the subtle, jealous twitch of Rick's jaw when Conrad kissed her cheek goodbye wasn't terrible to see, either. Castle made sure to leave his mark on her in other places; she has stubble burn on her thigh and a memory full of what her partner had really wanted to say and do last year when Conrad "shadowed" her for that brief time.

She likes not having to lie and sneak around anymore. Everyone but Gates knows about them now.

And if the tapping she hears from her living room is any indication, his writer's block is _officially_ broken.

Relief floods her. He's writing again. The words have come back to him after weeks of nothing.

She's on her way out of the bathroom when she hears the tapping cease. Hopefully, she hasn't broken his concentration by moving around, but he picks it up again a few seconds later. It's difficult to contain the thrill of knowing he's writing in her living room after sleeping (hopefully sleeping) in her bed. Maybe she _should_ look into becoming president of his fan club. She certainly has the credibility.

When she comes in, his eyes lift from the screen just long enough to acknowledge her. She smiles quickly, pointing to the kitchen.

"Coffee?"

"Left your mug on your nightstand a few minutes ago," he hums, already typing again. "I thought it might've been what woke you."

He – really? She twists, leaning in the doorway to spy her nightstand and the bright white monogrammed mug. He did.

She's not sure if she imagines Castle's chuckle when she groans around the first sip. Whatever; let him laugh at her. There are many reasons to celebrate the coffee this morning. With her caffeine craving satisfied for the moment, she returns to the living room, dropping a respectable distance beside him and lifting her mug in thanks. Castle just smiles and returns to staring at the computer.

Hey, she recognizes that keyboard. Is he? Yes, yes he is; he's using her laptop. He's writing his book on her computer. She hides a grin against the rim of her coffee mug, pressing her toes into the divot in the cushion under his thigh. He sleeps in her bed, writes on her laptop, and she has an open invitation to touch him. Take _that_, groupies.

Castle looks over, unapologetic. He knows how many boxes he's ticking for her today and he adores it. Just as she starts to wonder what his next trick will be, he leans over. The kiss is sloppy and silly, leaving them both grinning when they part.

"Morning."

"Mhmm, good morning. Sort of. I can't believe you let me sleep this late; it's almost noon." She thumbs a slow circle on his jaw. "What time did you get up?"

"Oh, uh, seven…ish?" He looks sheepish, like he should be ashamed of sneaking out of bed to work. "I just had the idea and I didn't want to risk losing it if I didn't get up. I'm almost done, I think."

She hums in encouragement. "Take your time. It's lazy day."

"I like lazy day." He smiles gleefully, curling his hand around her ankle. His fingers begin a slow trek up her leg, doodling nonsense against her bare knee before hiding under the hem of her shirt (his shirt). "I like lazy days when this is all you wear, particularly."

She swats his hand away before he has the chance to find out if the dress shirt is _all_ she's wearing. "Write your book, Castle. Later."

He grins, turning back to the computer once more. Neither of them acknowledge his mumbled, "Later's so far away."

Instead, she watches him take a deep breath and flex his fingers before he dives back into the amazing world he's created.

She watches him for longer than she cares to admit, taking in every shift of his face as he works. Sometimes he smiles, sometimes he chuffs at his own wit. He frowns when something just doesn't work; his large fingers hit the backspace with a little more force than she'd expect, though she supposes it does make sense. Having to break to edit interrupts his flow. She doesn't blame him for not wanting to go back.

They don't speak. She sips her coffee until the cup is dry, and turns to Castle's mug when the prospect of getting up for more isn't as appealing as sitting there with him.

Blegh, it's cold. He really has been in the zone this morning. Holding both mugs to her chest, she stands. Castle barely registers her movement.

"More?" she chances breaking his concentration, asking him quietly.

His eyes lift but his head doesn't. "Wha? Oh no, not for me. That was my third one. I made a fresh pot for you, though. There's plenty."

"Thanks, babe." She'll get him water instead.

His eyebrows wiggle in response.

"Yeah, yeah," she drawls, dropping an affectionate kiss on his head. His amusement carries her to the kitchen.

She doesn't mind losing his attention so easily in this case. It's for a good cause; the sooner he finishes, the sooner the book – _Frozen_ _Heat_, he's told her – goes to print. Which means it'll be in her hands soon, too.

The prospect thrills her.

Breakfast might be in order since she doubts he's eaten on top of all that coffee. A glance into her fridge has her gawking.

"Castle, how much did you _buy_ yesterday?" It pops out before she can stop it.

"It looks like there's more than there is. It's enough for a couple days here and it won't spoil if you're at the loft."

Well, he has her there. They _do_ spend more time at his place than hers. At least he stocked the kitchen well.

"Good thinking." She twists away from the fridge with her spoils.

He smiles quickly, wiggling his foot in acknowledgment. So this is what he's like when he's writing. It's pretty hot.

"You're staring at me, Beckett," he singsongs a minute later.

"Just turning the tables on you." She grabs the toast when it pops up. "Makes ya feel weird, doesn't it?"

"Mmm. I dunno, I kind of like it. Should I do something manly for you?"

She rolls her eyes, lifting the plate they'll share and grabbing their beverages for quick transport into the other room. Castle opens his mouth for a bite as soon as she sits, seemingly unwilling to remove his hands from the keyboard. She shoves the toast between his teeth, indulging him anyway. He's ridiculous, but he's writing.

"You're getting crumbs on my computer, you know."

"Wha- oh, sorry, sorry. I'll clean it up." His hand comes up to catch the bread.

"You'd better." She offers him a napkin, too. "And wipe the butter off your fingers."

"Yes, _mom_."

She pinches his ear gently before leaning in to nip at his jaw. "Don't call me your mom. That's weird. And oh, I'm doing laundry in a few; tell me what you want washed before you go back into the zone."

Too late. He looks up, confused. "What?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll wash whatever's in the hamper. You eat and write. Finish my book."

"O-ho, _your_ book?"

It's not how she meant for it to come out, but she'll take ownership of it. "Uh huh. Mine." She leans against the arm of the couch, sipping her coffee and nibbling at her breakfast.

"Possessive, aren't we?"

"Shut up. And don't mock me."

He turns soft eyes to her, reaching for her hand. She puts the plate aside, giving her fingers to him.

"Not mocking, Kate. Not mocking at all. I'm glad you love it. I love that you love it."

She looks away, cheeks flushing.

"I'm glad the books have grown on you. And I'm happy to catch you trying to sneak a peek at the screen whenever you look over. As a writer, that means I'm doing my job, and as your ruggedly handsome partner, it makes me proud to know you're proud of them."

He kisses her wrist and she smiles at his honesty, his tenderness, and yes, even his ego.

"And while we're on the subject, when did I sign _When It Comes to Slaughter_ for you?"

So he _has_ snooped through his Greatest Hits collection.

She squirms up. "My second year on the force, I was on loan to the Midtown North Precinct and you were having a signing nearby. So I ducked out on my lunch break, thinking it'd be quick and I'd be back at work in forty five minutes or less. _When It Comes to Slaughter_ was the one I," she pauses, licking her lips quickly. "It was the one I was reading when my mom was killed. I must've read it a dozen times after she died. I think I took it everywhere. So that was the one I wanted to have you sign."

She can see him doing the math, picturing her as a twenty-something in her uniform to see if he can remember that day. She can already tell he hopes to remember that day. He won't, and that's okay. She doesn't blame him.

"Was I… how was the signing?"

"If you're asking whether you tried to get me to sleep with you, Castle, you didn't. So you can relax. Or lament your lack of foresight."

Her lame attempt at lightening the mood goes unnoticed. He still looks serious. "But I was good to you?"

She closes the distance between them, dragging his head to hers and kissing him hard.

"You were good to me, Castle. You asked me my name and about my day. You thought it was cool that I was a real cop, and I was so nervous I think I made some ridiculous joke about it beating being a security guard at FAO Schwarz."

Castle laughs softly, leaning his head against hers.

"I mean it, Castle. You were sweet and attentive, and my three tongue-tied minutes with you were worth the huge wait and all the shit I got at work for being gone so long. Will teased me about it a couple years later," she hums softly, rubbing his neck when he huffs at her ex's name. "Then he found all the books, and he called me Kate the Super Fan and asked if he needed to worry about stalking charges."

"Sorenson's an asshole," he mutters. It's not an incorrect statement if she's honest, but it still makes her smile a little to hear it come from him.

"Tell me, do you think any of the guys I've dated aren't?"

"Well Demming's not bad," he says it lightly, but the tick of his jaw says they won't be having a boys night any time soon. "But you can do so much better. Like you are now."

She doesn't tell him about their miss, how she could've been 'doing so much better' for a lot longer. Maybe someday she'll tell him how it felt to practically have her bags packed for a weekend with him only to have it fall apart. She'd been so angry at him back then, but time and hashing it out with Burke has shown her it wasn't all his fault; he's not _actually_ a mind reader, no matter how spooky it is when he does know what she's thinking. Ultimately, she's not sure they would be here now if she had gone with him.

"Yeah, yeah," she murmurs, surprised at how tight her throat is at the prospect of not making it to here with him. "Anyway, that's the story of my first Richard Castle book signing. I liked that Castle a lot more than the one I met a few years later at that party, by the way."

He trails his fingers over her wrist. "But you still liked me a little, right?"

"I kinda thought you were an ass."

His teeth graze her wrist, sending zings through her arm. She'd thought he was an ass, but she'd still spent more than a few nights talking herself out of wanting him.

"Still liked me a little."

"I admit nothing."

His lips twitch against her skin. "I bet I can make you admit it."

"Oh yeah?"

Her foot slides along his leg, careful not to send her computer tumbling to the floor. The last thing they need is for her hard drive to end up busted and for his morning to be a waste. It seems he has similar concerns, because he lowers the computer sideways, his mouth never leaving her wrist.

"Mhmm, talented."

"I try." He grins, rubbing his nose against her arm.

Her foot slips into his lap, toes wiggling against the inseam of his sleep shorts.

He grunts, his breath coming quicker. She finagles her wrist out of his grasp, sliding her fingers between his to squeeze his hand instead. Before he can protest, she swoops in to kiss and capture his lower lip.

Groaning her name, he yanks her closer. Teasing time is over and she isn't complaining. She doesn't even bother reminding him that he should be writing.

* * *

><p>"I want you to read it."<p>

She's half asleep when he says it, pressed comfortably into his side as their breathing returns to normal. His hand makes lazy trails on her bare back. It doesn't help her wake up, but she can't bring herself to tell him to stop.

"Read it?" She peeks an eye open.

"The book. When I finish. Before it goes under lock and key and I'm not allowed to show anyone under penalty of thumbscrews."

She smiles sleepily, wiggling her fingers on his belly to get to his hand. Her lips close around his thumb, tongue sliding in slow circles. It's the same digit he used to drive her insane a few minutes earlier.

"Well we don't want that," she teases, looking up at him from underneath her lashes. Even with her teasing, he looks shy, almost uncertain. "Castle, I'd love to read it before a vow of silence is necessary."

He exhales, dipping his head to press their lips together. She tastes his relief.

"But I have just one question," she adds.

"Hmm?"

"Do I still get my advanced copy?"

He grins. "Well I wouldn't want to ruin the symmetry of your collection."

She squeezes him gently, stretching up to kiss him once more. "Thanks."

"You don't have to thank me for that, Kate."

* * *

><p>Love has made her insane. There's no other way to explain why she's doing this.<p>

She's taking him and his daughter zombie walking for their anniversary. Their totally made up anniversary. They're celebrating four months and _change_ according to Castle's text announcement, warning her to be ready for merriment at any future time. But she's the one organizing this; she's the one with a palette of grotesque makeup on her bathroom counter. As far as he knows, she still thinks the entire non-anniversary anniversary thing is stupid. And it is, but here she is anyway.

Castle was just so excited at the prospect of it during their case. After the writer's block, and the stress Alexis was under before finally choosing Columbia, she can't help but want to do this for them. It's the perfect gift for both of them. They've put up with so much from her, indirectly and directly, they deserve something like this in return.

Taking a deep breath, she starts applying the mask Kyle directed her to pick up from the costume store. It smells rank and feels disgusting, but for her partner's happiness, she'll do it.

Her discomfort pays off when she comes strolling up the sidewalk, zombified quite hideously if she can say so herself. He's astounded, maybe even a little overwhelmed; he's been beaten at his own cosplaying game. When Alexis joins them a moment later, similarly decked out, Castle looks like he actually might cry.

"Surprise," she greets, tugging the lapels of his jacket to kiss him hard, makeup and all.

The motion earns her a mid-kiss guffaw. He's a fan, definitely.

As indecent as the kiss felt at the time, Alexis isn't even looking away when they part. She'll take that as a good sign.

Castle licks his lips, looking between them eagerly. "This is… wow. What is this? I mean you look great, you both do, but… I thought we were going to dinner?"

Alexis links arms with her father, kissing his cheek gently. They're both enjoying Castle's confusion.

"We are. Just not here," Castle's daughter gestures to the restaurant beside them. "And we have a second activity after dinner. So you, father, need to change. We can't go anywhere with you looking like that." To emphasize her point, Alexis holds up the bag with Castle's zombie costume.

"Unless you want to be a normal," she adds, picking up where Alexis leaves off.

Castle beams at the possibilities. "Beckett, do you promise to catch me and eat my tasty, tasty brain to turn me?"

She smiles indulgently, shaking her head in Alexis' direction.

"Sure, Castle, I'll take care of that tasty, well-aged brain of yours."

"Hey!"

She and Alexis make the decision for him to save time, each taking an arm and tugging him to their real dinner destination. It's silly and stupid to celebrate a made up anniversary, but this is going to be fun.

_Hours_ later, the three of them stumble into the loft, trying in vain to quiet their cackles so they won't wake Martha. Their makeup is smeared, partially wiped away by sweat and forgetful hands (and in her case, from the kisses Castle kept stealing as she helped him "turn").

They're tired, they're sweaty, they're stinky, but oh it was fun. Kicking loose like that was exactly what they needed, no matter the "occasion." Rick and Alexis both look so relaxed.

And now she's going to conclude the night by making them food. A zombie breakfast, she's been calling it mentally since she made the plans.

"Okay," she pants, holding her belly as the laughter subsides, leaving a mild ache in her side. "I'm starving. I want eggs, toast, and bacon. Who's in?"

Castle groans, "Once again, you have read my mind, Beckett. I'll start it after we clean up?" He's already heading toward his bedroom. Alexis nods her agreement, making her way to the stairs.

She shakes her head. "I'll make it, but there's a catch."

Both Castles stop short, eyeing her suspiciously. She hasn't told Alexis this part.

"Zombie breakfast," she announces triumphantly, reaching into the fridge for the eggs.

Not for the first time that night, Castle looks awestruck. Alexis just grins.

"You should marry her, Dad. Just go ahead and do it in the zombie makeup."

They gawk.

"I… uh…"

Alexis rolls her eyes. "_Fine_, be weird."

Castle recovers first, thankfully, drawing his daughter closer for the ultimate in zombie attacks: tickles. Their distraction gives her a chance to escape into the fridge again.

Alexis is thinking about the two of them getting married. Alexis is already thinking about it even though it hasn't even been six months and they could still easily crash and burn. It's humbling and it's terrifying at the same time to have someone put that much faith in this, in her, when some days are still a struggle to get out of bed. But he helps her, Castle does. (All jokes about him helping her _out_ of bed aside.) Alexis helps, too. Martha and all her craziness helps. They all help.

She glances back at Castle, feeling stupidly bashful.

It's a thought that _has_ crossed her mind, and not just in the last few months. Their entire partnership has felt like a marriage (albeit an arranged one in the beginning) in some ways, so obviously the idea has crossed her mind. She's also glad they've finally gotten to the perks of a marriage, instead of only having the fights. But there's a big difference between contemplating and actually talking about it like it's a foregone conclusion.

Castle smiles easily, catching her eye. He's radiating a calmness she used to only see when he talked about his family. Now she's on the receiving end of that look.

She is family. Last year he sat in her living room with Ryan and Esposito as she declared the four of them family. Now he's showing her she's his family, too.

"Do the toast, Castle," she murmurs, tossing the loaf at him. Thankfully, he catches it without incident. His throw is fine, but they'll work on catching before she takes him to a ballgame in the summer.

"Zombie toast?" he says eagerly, lifting his eyebrows.

"Sure, zombie toast." She rolls her eyes playfully.

Once everything's set up for cooking, she bites her lip. "Where's the food coloring?" It's one thing she didn't think about when she shopped.

Rick points to the cabinet. "In there, behind the sprinkles. Oh! We should do cookies tomorrow; take them into the precinct. I bet Gates will like them."

"Uh huh." She finds the food coloring and returns, cracking the eggs. "Or she could give you the stink eye for trying to bribe her with baked goods."

"It works, though, doesn't it? It worked on you."

She narrows her eyes at him. "When?"

"Well, it wasn't really baked goods for you, it was coffee. But it's the same general idea."

"You think the coffee's what won me over, Castle?" She whisks the eggs, adding the green food coloring quickly.

"I – ah, well, I don't want to _assume_ it was my charm or my handsome good looks, but if that's what you're saying, Beckett, I suppose I'll have to accept that."

She and Alexis share a glance, rolling their eyes in unison.

"Maybe it was the coffee," she drawls, bumping him with her hip.

"Oh no, you already said it wasn't. Can't take that back, Beckett. It had to be because I'm so devastatingly handsome, and charming, and –"

"So very modest," she teases, leaning into the kiss he swipes on her cheek. Her hand curves around his jaw, smudging the remaining makeup over his skin.

"It's one of my better features, yes."

"Uh huh. You know, I never said I wasn't the coffee. I just asked you if that's what _you_ thought it was."

She turns toward the stove, pouring their eggs into the pan.

Castle's hands warm her hips through her pants. His happiness vibrates through his fingers, drawing another smile onto her face. They did well tonight. Celebrating this ridiculous anniversary is good for them.

Her mom used to celebrate ridiculous things, too. She always encouraged her to celebrate, too. Now apparently she does.

Not for the first time, she wishes the two of them could've met. She's sure they would've found each other _fascinating_. Castle would've driven her mother crazy with questions about her work. She can only imagine how many times her mother would've had to ask if Castle ever stopped asking questions. It's both a silly thought and a melancholy one, all at the same time. They won't have that, they never will.

Thinking about it, though, she's surprised he hasn't picked her father's brain yet. Maybe she'll suggest that; give them something to talk about that isn't _her_. Castle has a tendency to get nervous when they see her dad, and it's adorable, but not really want she wants their relationship to be like.

"Sit," she commands softly, shaking herself out of her thoughts. "You're distracting me and I don't want to burn our eggs."

His fingers press into her hips, telling her distraction is exactly what he was hoping to achieve. He really doesn't play fair.

"Yes, love muffin. I anxiously await our zombie eggs."

"Call me love muffin again and something more potent will replace the food coloring in yours."

He scoffs. "You love love muffin."

No, but she loves him, so she puts up with it.

* * *

><p>As always, the other shoe drops.<p>

They've been happy, they've been _great_. And now this.

He's worried about her. She knows he's worried. She's worried, too, but this is exactly the break they've needed. It's been almost a year of nothing and now this. It's obvious the man behind all of this – the Dragon – is getting antsy. He's antsy and he's sending her a message: He's coming for her.

Let him come for her. Let him thinking coming after her will send her into hiding. She's ready. She's not running like a coward. She's survived losing her mother, she's survived a bullet to the chest, she's going to survive this and she will take this man down.

It's time to put this to rest, it's time to get the justice her mother deserves. It's time to live her life for real – to love Castle and be good for him the way he deserves – the way she's been trying to, without always looking over her shoulder.

This is it.

It's the worst possible moment, as if there ever is a good moment to receive a reminder that a powerful man will stop at nothing to keep that power. She knows he wants it this way. He wants her scrambling to hold onto how good her life has been. He wants her shaken and rethinking her plans. He wants her worrying about her family, and she is. But that only makes her more determined.

Let him try to take them from her. She's not losing anyone else. She doesn't care what it takes.

She knows Castle thinks she's slipping, but she's fine. She can do this. They can do this.

It's not the safe, carefully planned moment they've talked about waiting for, but it's here. It's time. She'll put this man where he belongs – in jail, _paying_ for what he did to her mother, to Roy, to her – and then she'll be able to have more than a taste of what it's like to feel good, to feel loved and to love in return. She knows that's what Castle wants for her, for them, too.

They just have to get this done.

She hasn't seen Castle all day. Not since she convinced him to go home and see Alexis. His daughter's been struggling to write her speech, and even though the girl has said multiple times to them both that she wants to do it alone, it doesn't hurt to have her father there to help her through it. In a way, she's glad Alexis needs the guidance. She needs the chance to immerse herself in the case again. It's been too long since she looked at it. The details aren't as sharp as they need to be.

One thing stands out for her: If she finds the man who shot her, she finds whoever sent him.

The sun has long since set and her third (fourth?) cup of coffee has been cold for hours when Castle lets himself in.

"Just me," he calls, giving her the chance to relax her stance. She's on edge and she knows he is, too, just from the stilted way he's approaching. Of course he's on edge, too. He has stake in this. He was right beside her that day last year.

"Hey." Her gun goes back on the desk before she meets him in the middle of the room.

She's able to ignore the desperate way he frames her face before he kisses her, but she can't ignore the nervous look in his eyes when he pulls back. Rubbing his waist gently just makes him draw her closer.

"How's Alexis?" she asks, stepping back before he can embrace her fully. It hurts him; even his poker face isn't good enough to hide that. But she can't let herself sink into him. Not yet.

"Good. Well, I mean, not great. She's stressing, still. I asked if she wanted me to write it for her, but you know Alexis…" he trails off, lifting a shoulder in attempt at levity.

Her laughter is tight, forced. "Yeah I do. She'll get it, though. Something will click."

"That's what I told her, too."

Nodding, she gestures to her murder board. They might as well stop pretending this isn't what he's here to talk about. "Show you what I'm working on?"

She's already at the window before he can answer. "Esposito called me a few minutes ago. Our killer had a keychain. He matched it to Eastway Car Rentals."

"That could be one of a thousand cars," Castle murmurs. His voice is dull, strained, and she tries not to let it get to her. The call gave her hope that they're getting somewhere.

"I know, it's not a lot to go on, but they keep photocopies of their licenses, so unless he's somehow gotten to those…"

"Kate…" he hedges.

"I know, he's probably using a fake ID, but we should still be able to narrow it down from there –"

"Kate," he says it again, harsher this time. She twists, feeling her stomach sink with the knowledge of what he's going to say next.

"You have to stop. Before things get out of hand."

Reaching for him, she tries to smile. It may or may not come off as a grimace, but she forges ahead. "I know, Castle. We've talked about this. I'm fine, I'm in control."

"No you're not. I know you think you are, but Kate, what time is it? Have you eaten? You didn't answer my last three calls, or respond to my texts, and your phone obviously works or you wouldn't have been talking to Esposito. You're not in control, you're shoving me out, and that'd be fine if it weren't for the fact that if you keep going like this…"

"Castle-"

"They're going to kill you, Kate, you know that. I'm just trying to protect you."

"Castle, I don't _need_ protection. What I need is to work on this with you. Is this about Smith? Did you talk to him? Did he say something?"

"No, no, he hasn't contacted me since January and the number I have… he didn't pick up. But Kate, they're coming for you, and you're throwing yourself right into the middle of it all."

"Let them come," she insists, her voice rising. "They sent Coonan and he's dead. They sent Lockwood, and he is dead. And I'm still here, Castle. I'm ready for this." Her breath is short, but she fights to control it; she is _not_ having a panic attack over this.

"Well I'm not," he snaps. "I'm not ready for you to go running at this, for you to die for your cause. I'm not ready to stand at your funeral beside your dad. I'm not ready to be the one he calls on to give your eulogy and say goodbye to the woman I _love._ I love you, Kate, and I know you love me, too, even though it's hard to open that part of you up. But even if you don't," his voice cracks. "Even if you don't, if the past few months mean anything to you at all… don't do this, Kate. It's not a murder investigation anymore, it's a war."

What the hell does he think the last five months have meant to her?

"You _know_ what they've meant to me, Castle," she hisses. "You know what _you_ mean to me, or you should. But, this is my mother, Castle. This is everything I've been for the past thirteen years. This is the most important thing in my life." It's not what she means to say, it's not even how she feels, but before she can explain or take it back he's nodding, his face impassive.

"Well, then I guess there's nothing else I can say, is there?" He clears his throat. "You're right, Kate, it is your life and it was stupid of me to think it was more than that. To think we were building something bigger than this."

Her heart squeezes at the touch of his lips to her temple. This isn't… it's not what she wants, damn it! It's not what she meant, not at all. She tries to grip his shirt to keep him there, so she has time to explain herself and take back the harshness of her words, but he's already gone. He's already stalking across her apartment, his head bent in defeat, shoulders bearing the weight their fight.

"Good luck, Kate. I hope you find what you need."

She should go after him and apologize. Make him listen. Make him hear her. But she doesn't. She can't. She's rooted to the floor. A traitorous part of her even wonders if maybe it's for the best. If he's… if he's gone, then maybe he'll be safe from this. Whatever happens with her shooter, he'll be safe. If he's not beside her and he's not investigating, he's safe.

Maybe if she says it enough, she'll actually convince herself that's true.

Even her new mantra doesn't stop her heart from splitting at the sight of his key on her countertop. The heart sticker he'd dredged from his desk's bottom drawer mocks her, even from across the room, even from her pocket.

She doesn't sleep. His body heat and the solid press of him against her back have been enough to keep the nightmares at bay. Having spent most of her evening staring at her mother's lifeless eyes, looking at Roy's picture… nightmares are a given. Without him there, sleep won't happen.

So no, she doesn't sleep. At 4:45, she showers and changes her clothes. It's almost first light when she leaves her apartment. Instead of going straight to work, her feet take her to the cemetery, to her mom.

Most of the time she doesn't speak aloud when she's here. Most of the time she remembers her mother's laugh and the way she'd smile, but she never speaks. Today she does. Today she tells her mother all about Castle, all about their partnership, and all about their fight.

"He gave me his key, Mom, and he said good luck and that was that." She sniffs, swiping her hand under her eye. "I just want to get this done. I want it to be over. I don't want to have to worry about being on a crowded street with him and a sniper taking one of us, maybe both of us, out. I want to be able to look at your picture, Mom, and see someone other than a victim." She takes a breath.

"I want to see _you_ again, not a crime scene. And I blew it. I couldn't do it, I couldn't just tell him that. And I couldn't tell him I love him when he's awake. I do love him. God, he's so," her voice cracks, "he's so important to me. But so are you, so is this. And I'm gonna get this done for you, Mom," she promises, wiping her cheeks quickly. "I'm gonna finish what I started."

She has to go. She has to get to work. "I'll see you soon, Mom."

He doesn't call. She doesn't expect him to, even if she did harbor some hope that a night apart would be enough to dull his anger and bring him back. But Alexis is graduating today and the ball is in her court.

She'd been invited to the graduation ceremony. She and Castle had made plans, date night plans. They're both things she desperately wants to do. But she can't think about them now. Not while they have this lead, this chance. Getting this guy means Alexis won't have to worry about her father's safety, she won't have to worry about some masked man ripping her only parent away.

Ryan's reluctant. He doesn't want to do this, especially not without Castle. But this is how it has to go down. Castle's out, whether she wants him to be or not, and they have a location on the man who _shot_ her – Maddox. What the hell is she supposed to do? This is probably their only chance, since he's either going to leave town or take another run at her. She's not willing to wait him out. Not if she can get to him now, not if she can catch him with his pants down.

And if he's off balance, maybe they can get him to talk, to give them the damn _name_ of who's behind this.

"You sure about this, Beckett?" It's Ryan's last-ditch effort as she and Javi prepare to leave. "I can… you want me to call Castle? Shouldn't he be here?"

Her stomach clenches. "Don't, Ryan. Just… stay put. We'll call in when we get more intel."

Whatever Ryan says next is lost as she and Espo grab the elevator.

* * *

><p>He was right, of course. She can only admit it as she hangs off the side of a building less than two hours later; Ryan was right, Castle was right.<p>

Oh God, Castle. He's… she's doing the one thing she promised she wouldn't do to him. He's going to… God, he's going to have to bury her if she can't hold on. If someone doesn't come. Maddox isn't coming back to finish the job, at least not right now, that much is obvious.

He might not even have to if she can't hold on.

All because she's selfish. She's _been_ so selfish this entire time. She took what Castle offered her, everything he offered her, and she threw it back at him.

Wasn't it just months ago that she stood on a building, on a rooftop much like this one and practically begged him to forgive her for doing the same thing? For being cowardly. She was a coward then and she's a coward now. Forget all the work she's done, she's still a coward.

She can be better, she can work harder, _be_ the person he needs, the person he loves. God, she should've told him she loves him, she should've forced the words out of her throat and told him. Instead, she let him walk out like it was nothing. Like there was nothing to the time she'd spent in his arms beyond a need for release.

It was everything.

It _is_ everything. It's more than her shooting, it's more than losing her mother, more than the monster she just fought. The last few months with Castle… they're everything. Laughing with him, kissing him, making love… that's everything.

That's what she's losing; what she may have already lost.

Her hand slips.

The keen of protest flies from her lips. No. No, no, no, this is not how this ends. This is _not_ how she dies.

"Castle!" It slips out before she can stop herself. Maybe Ryan called him. Maybe he'll come. Maybe he'll just _know_ what she's gotten herself into and be here.

Her hand hurts. Everything hurts.

She wants him here so badly, but she doesn't want him to see her fall.

"Beckett!"

It's him, he's here.

"Castle!" She attempts to adjust her grip on the ledge. It's tenuous, but right now she's still holding on. She can hold on for him. She can hold on long enough to make this right.

"Beckett, hold on!"

She's trying, she is. Her fingers feel flayed to the bone, but she hangs on. She calls him to her; she tells him where to find her.

When her grip falters, it's his name she calls. When a hand wraps around her wrist, she swears it's his hand. She swears it's him.

Her heart plummets when Ryan shakes his head.

Castle's not here. He didn't come.

_He didn't come._

It races through her mind as she's looked over by EMS, perched right beside Espo. He's going to have a hell of a headache for a while, but he's otherwise fine. It repeats when her friend apologizes to her, all the while holding an ice pack to his head, because Maddox got away.

It repeats as they ride back to the precinct in silence, and as Gates reams them out for everything they've done over the last few days. It repeats as she touches the badge she once fought so hard to earn, the one she thought could bring all the answers. It did, in a way. It brought her him.

Castle deserves better, he always has. But he's wanted her this whole time. She's been enough for him this whole time; broken pieces, walls, and all.

He's been enough, too, despite all evidence she's given him to the contrary. He is enough. He's more than enough. He's everything; smartass quips, childlike glee, and walls of his own.

She can only hope she can make it up to him, fix the mess she's made. She's going to show him he's more than enough. He's more than her trusty sidekick, more than Sancho Panza to her Don Quixote. He's more than crime scene photos and her mother's murder.

And so is she.

She's more. He's more. _They_ are more.

It's probably inappropriate to do it, but she takes a chance and goes to Alexis' school. She doesn't have a ticket and doesn't have the authority to barge in, but nobody challenges her when she walks through the doors. Alexis' voice carries through the hall, drawing her in with talk of endings and saying goodbye, all of the things the girl's been worrying about as her time in high school concludes. Slipping into the auditorium, she sees the girl's eyes trained on the crowd, on her father. Alexis is talking to him as much as she's talking to her peers.

His daughter's talking to him about endings, about goodbyes.

Please don't let her have broken him. Not beyond repair.

Her heart seizes as Alexis continues, describing the person, the people, who'll stay with them, no matter what the next part of their journey is. That's him, that's Castle. The one she wants with her on her journey. Her North Star. Her constant.

_"Always."_

Her breath hitches.

Always. Not just last week, not just yesterday, not just tomorrow. Always. She can do that. Her mother would want her to do that with him.

Always.

She wipes her eyes quickly, finding the back of Castle's head in the crowd and hoping if nothing else he'll be willing to listen. She doesn't need instant forgiveness, she doesn't want instant forgiveness, she just wants the chance to earn everything once again. Her partner doesn't move, except to get to his feet to applaud his daughter. He doesn't respond to her silent entreaties for him to look back, to see her, but Alexis does. The girl's eyes sweep the crowd, somehow landing directly on her. All she can offer her is a watery smile and a weak wave, but it's somehow enough. Alexis' fingers wiggle in response.

She stays for the rest of the ceremony. She stands through another speaker, through the reading of the names, and watching Alexis receive her empty diploma cover. She hasn't known Alexis her entire life, barely a fraction of it actually, but pride for her swells anyway. She remembers the soft-spoken, strikingly intelligent girl who leaned over her father's shoulder that night at his book launch, proclaiming, "That's new," before she whisked him away. She remembers the girl who marched up to her in the precinct with her grandmother and drolly asked if she could bail her meddlesome parent out of jail. She remembers the girl who made her hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and welcomed her into her home like it was obvious she belonged there.

She has to earn her place again, but she wants to belong there, she wants to be one of those constants in the girl's life, more than just the cop who tossed her father in lockup for being annoying. She wants to be able to tell the young woman on stage how proud she is to know her. To call her family.

When balloons fall from the ceiling and cheers sweep through the crowd, she can't help but join in. Her hands sting as she applauds, but it doesn't matter. They'll heal.

Slowly, chatter starts. Eager parents, friends, and relatives rise from their chairs to greet their excited graduates. A week ago, hell two days ago, she would've jumped into the fray with the other well-wishers to join her partner and his family and added her voice to the cacophony. She would've apologized for being late, offering hugs to Alexis and Martha and a kiss for Castle. Today she hangs back, watching Castle engulf his daughter in a hug, spinning her around even though there's not enough room for that. Today she revels in their happiness, even if she's not a part of it.

"_Kate_!"

"Oh, Kate, you made it." Martha's arms wind around her. How on Earth did they sneak up on her?

Castle must not have told his family everything; if he had, there's no way his mother would welcome her like this, there's no way his daughter would be smiling at her from her father's arms.

Her eyes shut involuntarily, unable to meet her partner's gaze just yet. Martha's hand rubs her back gently and she can't help but give in to the comfort for a little longer.

"I did, I'm sorry I was late." She finds Alexis' eyes. "I heard most of your speech, though. You were fantastic."

Alexis thanks her softly, reaching out for an affectionate, giddy hug. She returns it without hesitation, murmuring her congratulations into the girl's ear.

"Thanks," Alexis whispers. "I'm glad you're here."

The torn skin on her hand catches on the girl's robe, reminding her this day could've ended differently.

"Me, too, Alexis. I am, too."

Alexis nods, rocking back easily and sliding into her father's arms again. "I should… probably go find the others. But I'll see you guys tomorrow?"

Her heart flutters, knowing she's included in the question. If Alexis hasn't written her off, maybe Castle hasn't yet either.

Finally, the man himself speaks, and though he's addressing his daughter, his eyes are on her. "You will see me tomorrow at lunch, Daughter. And your grandmother you'll probably see in two days when she comes slinking home from her next scandal."

They all know what he's doing, making it a joke to avoid the issue, but still they play along. Martha swats at him and kisses Alexis loudly, declaring she's made her old bones proud. Castle kisses his mother's cheek, nodding in response to whatever it is she whispers in his ear.

She gets the same treatment; a hug and a kiss, and a murmured word of encouragement before Hurricane Martha joins a line of people waiting to exit.

Alexis kisses her father's cheek firmly. "There's Lina, Dad. I'm going to grab her and meet the others. I love you."

Castle smiles a bittersweet smile of fatherly pride. "I love you, too, pumpkin. Have fun tonight. I'll take your cap and gown home."

"Thanks, Dad."

The graduation robe barely makes it into Castle's hand before Alexis is running toward her friend.

And now it's just them.

"Hi," she offers lamely, stepping closer. Without time to gather her thoughts, gather her courage, it's all she can manage. She doesn't want to do this here, but if it's the only place he'll listen, then she will.

He shakes his head, gesturing for her to go ahead of him. She has no idea where he wants to go, but he hasn't walked away, and he hasn't told her to go to hell. So she walks.

The crowd hasn't thinned much, but they skirt around everyone to walk straight out into the rain. It's a heavy rain, but Castle doesn't comment. He doesn't jokingly complain about his hair, he doesn't say a word. He just tucks the cap and gown under his jacket to shield them and lowers his head.

"Castle," she tries finally. They've been walking in silence the entire time, but now they're walking up the sidewalk to the loft and she just can't wait anymore. She can't make it to his home only to have him turn her away.

She pushes her hair off her face, swiping her eyes quickly. "Castle, wait."

He stops. His hand's already on the door handle and she takes a gamble by stepping between him and the building. After their last conversation she's not sure anything could stop him from telling her to get lost if he wanted, but he hasn't. He's brought her back here. That has to mean something. If things were done, he would've said so as soon as they'd cleared the graduation, but he didn't.

"Beckett, what do you want?" He's gruff; he's trying to hold onto his anger from the night before, but his eyes are tired, defeated. Half of his face is shadowed thanks to the streetlight, but she sees his exhaustion; he didn't sleep last night.

She knows exactly what she wants. She cradles his face between her hands and whispers it all to him.

"You. I just want you. I _love_ you, Castle, I love you," she breathes. "And I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Castle." Her lips brush his carefully, hopefully.

He doesn't respond, but he doesn't shove her away, either, so she kisses him again. He catches her hand this time, drawing it away from his face. His hand is warm and the rain has left her cold, her skin clammy. She shivers but he doesn't release her.

"What happened?" he asks, and she knows her answer is the make or break for them, for this relationship. "Beckett, what happened today? Why'd you come to the graduation?"

"Whe- when I said the case was the most important thing… it wasn't. It's not more important. I know that. I, he got away and I didn't _care_. I almost died and all I could think about was you. Was us. _That's_ what's most important to me. Just you." Moisture hits her lip, some combination of her rain and tears. She's babbling, her words tripping all over each other. She'll say it all over again, every last word, until he believes her.

"I love you," she repeats, sniffing. "I love you, Castle and I'm so sorry."

His hand loosens, fingers caressing her wrists. She takes a breath, bringing her hands up again, fingers touching his lips.

"Cas-"

His mouth covers hers hotly, swallowing the rest of her words. Even her groan is stolen by his lips, by his frantic kiss.

Her back hits the glass door with a dull thud and he hikes her leg over his hips, trying desperately to get closer.

"Say it again," he orders, tugging her lip between his teeth.

"I love you." She kisses him slowly, holding the back of his head, keeping him from retreating from her. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

She's held the words in for so long, now she can't stop them. She pants them into his mouth, against his cheek, into his ear. She sinks into his arms when his mouth touches her neck, whispering over her collarbone.

When he traces his love into the skin above her scar, she breaks. She's more than that now. More than that scar. She pulls him closer, tugging him up to kiss him as sweetly as she can.

"Ellis Island," she whispers as he lifts her other foot off the ground, pulling her impossibly closer.

He lifts confused eyes to hers. They're hazy and love-filled, too, and she can't help but kiss him again.

"Tomorrow. We're going to Ellis Island tomorrow."

She sees the moment the memory strikes him. That day after the summer, another rooftop, her first dose of clarity. The day he tried so hard to take care of her and she couldn't budge more than a little bit because of her fear, her wall.

She's not afraid now. The wall's in a pile at her feet. And she has clarity, true clarity, for the first time in a long time.

She loves him and he loves her. They're going to be alright.

Love splits his face open, and he nods against her hand, mouth turning to kiss her wrist. "Okay, Kate… but we should make it late afternoon, after lunch with Alexis. We're sleeping in."

She grins, tracing his lips with the tip of her finger and then her tongue. Her hair slides through his wet hair, moving it off his forehead.

"Perfect. Now uh, let's go inside, kay?" Her nails tease his scalp gently while the rest of her celebrates in his shudder.

"Insi-? Oh. We are… we're still…"

She nods. "Uh huh. We are still outside your building. And we may or may not be keeping people from getting out."

Castle kisses her again, his tongue sliding between her lips. He puts her down just long enough to open the door and get them to the elevator. She doesn't care to look around to see if anyone's been waiting for them. She loves this man and he knows it now; other people can wait.

When they make it inside his front door, he lifts her up once more, starting a maddeningly slow walk into his bedroom.

They're going to Ellis Island tomorrow. Tonight they're going to bed.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Whew, I know that was a long one, everyone. I just couldn't split any of this chapter up. Thank you so much to everyone for their kind words on this story. You've been fantastic to me this entire time._

_All that's left is the epilogue and then this journey will be complete!_


	11. Epilogue

**Seeking Clarity**

**Epilogue**

* * *

><p>"He's late."<p>

"He'll be here."

"Well he should've been here earlier." Immediately, she feels bad for snapping. It's not Lanie's fault she's on edge.

"Just relax, Kate, he'll be here."

Even her friend's assurances don't help quell her rising frustration, her rising edginess. Right now they're slowly warring with nervousness and abject terror for dominance, but they're both there. This was supposed to be perfect, but right now it's looking like it might end up a disaster instead. He needs to get here so he can smile and reassure her that everything will be great.

She wants to do this for him, for them, but instead it could very easily come crashing down around her. These last few months have been stressful, full of cancelled plans and delays, adjustments and illnesses, and of course fights and misunderstandings. Everything keeps happening at once and she just wants to show him that all of those things are no match for them, for this life of theirs. For their story, as he might say.

They've been engaged for over six months and living under the same roof for even longer; effectively since the night she held his face in her hands and declared him the most important thing in the world to her. When more of her work clothes ended up in his closet than her own, it was unofficially official. After that, she started bringing more of her things over, adding small touches to make it feel like a shared space instead of her taking over as an extended guest.

They're still negotiating some things – like her painting making a nice addition to the living room or dining room. She says it'll fit perfectly in that alcove between the stairs and the fireplace, but Castle's not so sure. Truthfully, she's just thankful he agreed (through no small gnashing of teeth) to move "Linus," so the silver lion can stop terrifying her when she wakes up in the morning. So she hasn't moved everything and for now she won't. She has what she needs there. Plus, they still use her apartment as a refuge from time to time, whenever the open floor plan and boisterous other residents (Martha, mostly, since Alexis is in the dorms now) in the loft get to be too much. But the loft is home.

To say he surprised her with the engagement ring is still the understatement of the year. A proposal at Christmas is something one might expect. Same thing for an anniversary proposal, a New Year's proposal, even a birthday proposal. She hadn't expected a _Halloween_ proposal. Especially not all of ten months into their relationship. She'd expected to co-host his party and agree to one of his dorky couples costume suggestions, both of which she did. Thankfully last year's theme was tasteful, since her father was also invited to the party. She'd expected to clean up the loft and collapse into bed after a successful, slightly over the top Richard Castle Shindig (as he likes to call them). She hadn't expected him to be anxious all night long. She hadn't expected him to look like he barely had any fun. She _absolutely _hadn't expected him to drop to one knee, pull a jewelry box out of his toga robes, and ask her to marry him while she and her father shoveled discarded solo cups into a garbage bag. Instead of dropping into bed and falling asleep with half her makeup still on, she'd spent the rest of her night in a giddy haze, wrapped up in his arms in the middle of their living room, sipping the sparkling cider Martha _insisted_ they had to have. Alexis was the one to make them cinnamon rolls at 4:30, only to have Rick call them "Celebration Rolls" as the two of them swayed to imaginary music. That was her engagement celebration.

It may be a silly romantic notion, but she's still not sure if it she's seen a sunrise more beautiful since then, and she sees a lot of sunrises.

Sometimes she's still not convinced it's actually real, that they're engaged to be _married_. She doesn't believe it at all until she slides the (huge) diamond onto her finger when she comes home each night before joining him in the kitchen. It's real when they sit down to think about planning the wedding. Although the majority of the time they end up putting most of it aside in favor of work or other activities. (Their method for convincing each other when they're on the fence is truly inspired.)

It's fun. Every day with him is fun. Every day that ends in settling beside him – in bed, on the couch, at one of their desks – is its own kind of perfection.

It's a kind of perfection she won't change.

Not for a job, not for dozens of books, not for anything in the world. Yes, the Feds have been trying to court her. Yes, Castle's in the middle of negotiating a new book contract. Yes, they haven't had much luck actually planning their wedding thanks to a world conspiring against them (not literally, although Castle has suggested that, too). But this is their life and it's her first priority. Agent Stack can leave all the snarky voicemails asking when she's going to follow up on his offer to put her in touch with someone in Washington he wants; this is where her focus is.

That doesn't mean it hasn't been difficult. She'd told Castle about the conversation she'd had with Stack during their post-case dinner, in between attempting to pick a venue (their _third_) and hearing what kind of terms Black Pawn was offering her fiancé for the next few books. Needless to say it wasn't the most popular topic of conversation. They'd argued over just about everything that night; from Stack and the possible job, to their respective messes in their bedroom, to the fact that he'd all-but agreed to a contract that would swamp him. Of course, in the thick of it all, he'd reminded her that if she took a job like Stack's, she wouldn't have to worry about him being away from home on book tours anyway.

They've made up since, of course. It didn't even take the entire night, but even still, she wants to show him once and for all where she stands.

Which is why she's here.

It's why she set all this up and called him over an hour and a half ago to ask him to meet her here. In one of their "spots." She's been arranging this for over a week after sleeplessness drove her out of bed and the idea hit. She talked to his mother and his daughter about it, flying Alexis home from her program in Costa Rica to make sure she won't miss anything. The boys, Lanie, even the captain all took the afternoon off for this. It's that big.

It's why her father's standing a few feet from her, talking to a friend of his, a judge, and Jenny Ryan's beaming out at all of them from her perch on a bench. Jenny's not _too_ pregnant yet, but the baby's sapping most of her energy so she's been watching them pace while she rests. They're all here for this, the entire wacky family.

She, Kate Beckett, is going to marry her partner right here on this skyscraper rooftop. If he'll have her, that is.

Of course, she'll never know if he will or not, if he doesn't _show up_. They agreed on two o'clock, once he finished his final meeting at Black Pawn; it's almost 2:40 now. He's late. Or he's standing her up, which would be cruel for Castle and he's not the type. He promised he'd be here and he'll be here.

Hopefully soon; she's more than ready to make a few promises of her own.

"Beckett!"

She twists, feeling her heart slam against her ribs. He's here. He looks simultaneously confused and happy, but he's here, zipping around a couple of little old ladies with cameras around their necks to get to her.

"Hey, Castle… took ya long enough. Traffic?" She shakes off her nerves as quickly as she can.

"I… yeah, accident. What's going on?" He looks her over, taking in her attire quickly. "What are… the guys? Did someone die?" She sees his eyes darting around. "Is that Captain Gates? And your dad? What's going on?"

Laughing, she takes his hands. "Nobody died, Castle. It's not a crime scene. It's a surprise for you."

"For me?" His brow furrows in confusion and her hand lifts to smooth the wrinkles away. "Like my birthday?"

She bites her lip quickly, nodding. He still talks about the birthday party she'd thrown for him any chance he gets. "Something like that. No fake murders this time, though."

"Well… what is it?"

She takes a deep breath. "I called Stack like we talked about." It's not exactly an explanation, but she needs to get it out first.

Castle's hands slide over hers. It's a promise that whatever she's about to say, he'll hear. Even if he's not sure he's going to love it.

"You did?"

When they finally were able to talk about everything with clearer heads, she'd promised to give his new book deal a chance and he'd promised whatever she wanted to do about the job, he'd be along for the ride. But she doesn't want him to _just_ come along for the ride. It's their life, they should be riding together and bickering over who's going to drive this leg.

She nods, keeping his eyes. "Yeah, I did. I told him the consideration was flattering, but going to a federal job isn't where I want to be. Not at this point in my life."

She kisses him softly, smiling a little bit at his dumbfounded expression. It's not what he was expecting to hear, she knows. No doubt he was expecting to hear they were going to be packing their things and splitting their time between New York and Washington.

"But what about the opportunity? You said it'd be –"

She shakes her head quickly, feeling her hair whip against her cheek with the motion. Thankfully the wind isn't too bad today. "I have plenty of fantastic opportunities here. I have everything I need here. I have more than I could ever want, and far, far more than what I deserve. I love where I am, Castle. My work, my family, my husband…" she trails off, lifting her eyes to his again.

That gets his attention. "Your husband, huh? Didn't know you already had one of those." He's tongue-in-cheek, which bolsters her confidence.

"Well, I don't… yet. He kind of showed up close to," she pauses to check the time on his watch, "forty minutes late for our wedding, but hopefully he's right here now." She jostles his hands, watching as understanding dawns.

"O-our wedding? This is our wedding?" He stutters, surveying the crowd growing around them. It's everyone they deemed most important when discussing their guest list. Alexis smirks over her grandmother's shoulder, waving daintily to her stunned father. "Alexis?"

"Hi, Dad. Listen to Kate," she calls easily, giving her permission to proceed.

Nodding carefully, she continues, "If you want it to be. If you want to just forget all the worry about venues falling through or being double booked, and screw the planning and the bitchy caterers and everything… I want to make that happen. I'm making that happen."

Castle's grin grows with every word that comes out of her mouth. "Kate."

"Yeah?" she breathes, pulling him closer. She hopes that's a yes. Giddy laughter comes from one of them, maybe both of them. Definitely both of them.

"Kate, Kate, Kate," he chants, kissing her hair, her ear, her cheek, before finally touching her lips. "I changed the deal," he murmurs.

That's… not exactly the response she's been expecting.

"You what?" She leans back just enough to see his face again. "You changed the deal?"

"Uh huh, I changed the deal. Same number of books just with a shorter deadline. Plus a smaller travel package and more appearances in the city. It's less money, at least up front, bu- mhmm."

She muffles the rest of his words with her lips, kissing him fiercely. He did that for her. He's taking on _more_ for her, and getting _less_ for it. His fingers flex against her hips, pulling her closer briefly before he lets her go, his lips releasing hers with a wet pop.

"So hope my wife doesn't mind," he adds playfully, his forehead touching hers. "But I'm going to be around more often than we were anticipating."

His _wife._ He means her. Her throat constricts.

"Is that's a yes?" she asks.

Castle laughs heartily. "Yes, of course, Kate. Of course. Let's do that. Let's get married today." Their lips find each other again. "Right now, let's get married right now."

Adrenaline-shaky fingers frame his face, drawing him into another slow, soul-shattering kiss. One of their last as an engaged couple.

"I love you," she whispers against his lips.

"I love you, too, Kate. Now come on, I'm getting married today."

Their hands touch, fingers knotting together tightly. When she turns, their friends and family look expectant, smiles on their faces as they wait for the final word. Her dad lifts an eyebrow; he and Martha are the only ones who know exactly how frustrating the last few weeks have been, and how badly she's wanted to give Castle this. Her father's been the one helping her get all of their paperwork in order without tipping off Castle. She honestly has no idea how many strings he had to pull to make it happen, but he made it happen.

She grins, nodding against Castle's shoulder to let her father and everyone else know everything's good to go. Her dad beams, clasping his friend on the shoulder.

"Well, it looks like it's settled. Make this one good, Al, it's special to me."

Chuckles make their way through the group. It's special to everyone here, that much is obvious. Castle's lips press into her hair and she just knows he's fighting to contain himself. She presses back, hoping she doesn't leave makeup marks on his sport coat. It's a stroke of luck that he chose this one today instead of the leather jacket. She supposes she has the meeting at his publisher to thank for that. Their wedding photos won't be formal, but with him in his jacket and the blue dress shirt she _had_ requested he wear, and her in the ivory and blue dress she picked exactly for this occasion, they'll be perfect.

"So," she clears her throat, looking back at the judge. "How do we do this?"

Judge Collins, Al, directs them into position before beckoning their witnesses closer. Alexis appears at Castle's side and he rocks sideways to bear hug his daughter. He's missed the girl since she left for her summer trip; having her home for any reason is enough to bring him joy. She hears the low murmur of their conversation, but can't make out anything in particular.

It warms her time and again to see how fully Castle loves his daughter; he's going to love their kids the same way one day. It's a thrilling thought, the idea of _their_ kids.

Her father moves to her side, his lips finding her cheek gently.

"I'm so proud of you, Katie."

She smiles, her eyes slipping shut at the contact. "Thanks, Dad."

"She's proud of you, too, your mom."

Fleeting though it is, melancholy stabs through her belly. She wishes her mom could be here. For her wedding, for her father, for the grandchildren she's never going to meet.

She's not here, but having Castle, having this moment, makes it bearable.

"Thanks, Dad," she whispers, taking a second to pull herself together. "I wish she could be here."

Her father kisses her forehead, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. "She is. She's right here with us, sweetheart. Can't you feel her telling you she told you so about something? About Rick? How many times would she have told you to give in and marry him already?"

That earns him a watery laugh. God, her mom would've been dancing because the two of them are finally getting their act together.

"Too many. She'd be so thrilled about this. About Rick."

"What about me?" With Castle's attention once again on her, she feels her heart pick up speed. She's going to marry him in a few minutes.

"Nothing, babe. Ready?" Her father chuckles, stepping back already. She offers Castle her hands as Collins instructs.

"Ready, honeybu – wait, sorry, ready, Mrs. Castle."

She's not sure she'd be able to stop smiling if he paid her.

"Finally, a good name."

Castle beams, too, kissing her fingertips in response.

It is a good name. One she's already arranged to take personally, but not professionally. That'll be the next surprise, the one she gives Castle in about twenty minutes when they sign the paperwork. He'll be beside himself. He hasn't pushed about it. Other than a few silly suggestions for new matching monogrammed towels, he hasn't said a word about her changing her name. She knows he loves her no matter what her driver's license says.

The ceremony itself is short. Al speaks plainly, yet sweetly, about love and marriage; what it means to make a life together. It's more flowery than a civil service usually is, and she can only assume that's due to the favor Al owes her father. It's perfect, though. A reminder to take care of one another, to stand by one another, and to be partners with one another.

She thinks they've got that down pat.

Castle's hands lock tighter around hers as he says his vows. For once, he doesn't deviate from what he's told to repeat, like he doesn't dare tempt the fates by straying from the script. When his voice crackles with emotion, she lifts his hands to her lips, eyes locked on him. She gives him her love and her support the same way he gave her his strength on this rooftop almost two years ago.

She remembers how his eyes looked the first time they were here, how clouded and stormy, how cautious of her he was. They're so different now. So clear. Bright, full, happy. Just like the sky around them.

They shine when he says, "I do."

Judging by the look on his face as she says her last sentence as a single woman, a husky, succinct, wonderful, "I do," hers do, too.

After that, he kisses her and words aren't needed any longer.

* * *

><p><em>AN: And that, everyone, Seeking Clarity draws to a close. I've said it so many times, but thank you to each and every reader and reviewer. Thank you to everyone who put this story on their alerts list and kept coming back through the ups and the downs. I've been overwhelmed and humbled by the response to this story and I'm so glad to have been able to share it with everyone._

_Thank you all so very much._


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